The Witch King
by nite0wl29
Summary: While the fate of Middle Earth rests upon the shoulders of those in the Fellowship of the One Ring, a lowly woodland elf holds onto hope that her lost love is alive after years of being presumed dead. Little does she know that the Alderaanian Elven Prince - Ben Solo - resides as Kylo Ren, the Witch King of Mustafar and Leader of the Ringwraiths.
1. Chapter 1

_Run!_

"Come on, Artoo!"

"Run!"

"You've got this, Artoo! Run!"

 _Run!_

He focused on the words his friends cried out for encouragement, frantically waving their arms with hands that beckoned for him to make it to the wooden raft that'd begun to slowly drift apart from the ferry's dock. Artoo replayed the notion in his thoughts, not caring that the soles of his feet were being scraped and prodded by fallen twigs and discarded stones while his puny hobbit legs carried him over the forest's wooded trail, striving to distance himself from the steed hot on his heels.

Lungs enflamed, burning like dragon's fire while his heart hammered against his chest, straining to pump the necessary blood into his veins from the amount of exertion it took to keep from falling victim to the hooves that pummeled the earth in his tracks. The raucous snorts and grunts of the animal merged with the rider's clanging armor, like the resonating sounds of swords clashing in a nearby battlefield.

The thunder rolling behind him intensified as he heard the mount of another dark rider join the chase and immediately followed by another. One of them let forth an agonizing, blood-curdling cry, sending a ripple effect of shivers along the tiny hairs at the nape of his neck. The sound nearly deafened his sense of hearing though he couldn't afford performing the simple act of covering his ears. He had to endure to the pain that was violently ringing in his ears, aiming to preserve his strength and focus on staying alive; otherwise, the quest he'd been tasked to carry out would nonetheless be for nothing.

For perplex reasons that remained entirely unknown, the weight of the silver chain around his neck, bearing the One Ring of power, had begun to feel the heaviest it'd ever felt since it came to be within his possession that morning. It was a worry that could undoubtedly be saved for pondering later. Now, he just needed to focus on reaching the waterfront.

"Come on, Artoo!" Threepio hollered, anxiously watching from the raft. While his friend had begun to draw close the pursuer dangerously closed further in to meeting its goal. Maintaining its grip on the reins with a single hand the adversary quickly extended the other armored hand, aiming for the back of Artoo's shoulder. It was one of those moments that surely felt like it'd been reeling in slow motion. "You're going to have to jump! Come on! It's almost on you!"

Artoo drew in a sharp breath, forcing himself to ample the drive he needed to fling himself several meters from the wooded-frame of the port onto the raft with his friends. With his attention wholly centered upon the timbered vessel, he used his feet to launch himself into the air at the exact moment he reached the edge of the pier, landing amongst safety on hands and knees with a bone-crumbling thud.

Amidst the frenzy of hands that attempted to assist Artoo into a position of sitting upright, the shrill siren of screams cut-off worried queries from Chirpa, Wicket, and Threepio. Their bodies crumbled into fetal positions on bended knees, eyes tightly clenched whilst cupping their palms over ears until the insufferable shrieks reduced to silence.

Only then did Artoo dare to reopen his eyes, unable to resist stealing a final glimpse through the crick of his arm of the creature that would've wrought an unmerciful death. What he looked upon was like a scene he expected to have seen sketched on a page inside one of his uncle's storybooks: what typically ensued when struck with the need to venture beyond Jakku's rolling hills of green pastures and valleys. The only exemption between then and now was him having to live the moment, and not reading about it resting beneath his favorite spot at the willow tree alongside the lake.

Brandishing a coat of hair blacker than the evening's darkness, the figure's horse rose upon its rear haunches, letting forth an incensed fury of grunts and squeals he never believed an animal of its kind would make. He could see its breath, vaporizing into the autumn's frigid air as its nostrils wildly flared, adhering to the rider that was forcing it to return to all fours.

A single ray of moonlight coerced its way through the trees' high-rising canopies, revealing the noticeable chrome armor that lined the figure's arms and shoulders. The protective coverings over its hands and gauntlets resembled scales from once known to be great, fire-breathing serpents from the north, burnishing like diamonds against the light that'd begun to rapidly diminish as a cloud slowly passed from overhead.

The helmet concealing its face behind a shadowy veil obscured the figure's identity beneath an obsidian robe, a garment purposely made to extinguish its rank of importance and inflict horror into anyone that was unlucky enough to see it. Great entities that mirrored thorns provided a crown around the headpiece's upper-portion, rising to an illustrious peak at the forehead and protruding outright from its chin.

For what felt like an eternity of waiting on baited breaths, the hobbits remained steadfast in anticipation, concerning the doom that would surely be brought upon them if the figure were to decide to make its way into the water as they slowly drifted afar. The knight watched them motionlessly, appearing to be weighing its options prior to surrendering to its defeat. The hobbits' sights remained keen to the riders taking up the afforested land at the rear of their leader, cloaked in ravenous robes and faces darkened only by hoods.

The supposed leader raised an iron-clad fist into the air, silently bidding its followers to retreat whilst urging its mount to return to all fours. One by one, the three riders veered off into the thick, forested terrain, running parallel to the river as two more riders that'd been unseen materialized from the mist further down the trail. Their vociferous screams pierced the thinning atmosphere, becoming muffled only by a little as they fell in pursuit of those ahead.

It wasn't until the final figure disappeared into the trees when the hobbits released the breaths they'd been holding. The only sounds remaining were the occasional snaps of nameless objects cracking limbs deep within the forest, and the soothing resonance of water flourishing within the bank, gently battering the edges along the raft.

Artoo swallowed heavily, conceding to the thick lump that'd formed at the back of his throat. He looked to see the relieved faces of those occupying the diminutive raft with him, their chests gradually coming down from the heaving state of panic to somewhat regular.

"Those riders were looking for something," Wicket stated with eyes narrowed in scrutiny, breaking the heavy pause of tension that lingered long after it'd been deemed safe enough for them to speak. Pivoting his chin, his concentration diverged from the direction he'd been staring blankly towards to Artoo. "Something that they think we have. But what is it that they could possibly want?"

Gazes in which demanded questions to be answered from Chirpa and Wicket settled upon Artoo, hoping to receive an explanation of sorts while Threepio sat silently across from them, alongside his lifelong friend. Having been assigned to accompany Artoo on the dangerous mission by the grey wizard, Holdo, it wasn't the sandy-blonde hobbit that needed to be enlightened of everything that was being held at stake.

Artoo heaved an unsteady breath, cheeks puffing out as he liberated the sigh. Not only was the fate of Middle Earth lying upon his shoulders, but now the lives of his friends he'd spent his entire life growing up with in the outskirts of Tatooine."I need to get to Mos Eisley," he confessed, shifting his eyes between Chirpa and Wicket. "I'm to meet someone at The Prancing Tauntaun, though I'm not entirely sure what's to be coming next."

The two younger Hobbits nodded in unison, considering the newly acquired facts with a bottom lip drawn beneath their upper teeth. "Okay," Wicket scoffed, concern inevitably creased between his brows as he spoke for himself and Chirpa. "But do you think that they'll have any chips at least? Muffins?"

"How can you think about food at a time like this?" Chirpa scolded, regarding his friend with a judgmental glare. "We nearly just got killed and you're thinking about eating?"

Wicket shrugged, unbothered. "Yeah, but after all that running I think I burned off what was left of my breakfast earlier. You try going without having second breakfast and dinner!"

Chirpa rolled his eyes and shook his head, disturbing the layers of strawberry-blonde curls. "I did go without second breakfast – and dinner, you dope," he affirmed, reining a softer tone and expression when he looked to Artoo sitting crosswise from him. "But yes, Artoo, like what Wicket was trying to say, we will help you get to Mos Eisley for whatever it is that you need to do."

Artoo nodded and furbished a grateful smile to those sitting with him around the ferry, hoping that the worst of the evening was officially in the past.

"I just hope that those things don't continue to follow us," Threepio uttered, unable to relieve the shakiness in his voice. Drawing up his knees to his chest, he lowered his voice into a whisper, "Something's telling me that the odds will not remain our favor, Master Artoo."

Artoo grimaced, veering his weary irises to the direction that the riders had disappeared. He refrained from mentioning the burden around his neck had grown stronger since the riders appeared, hinting at the awakening of a great evil to which it was silently calling to. He raised a hand to the neckline of his tunic and clenched his fingers over the fabric, adhering to the stress that'd begun to infect his mind.

* * *

So close.

He'd been so close to achieving what the hollow mass in his chest needed to suppress its vigorous yet unquenchable yearning. It was the closest he'd ever been to silencing the Ring of Power's nagging drum in his ears. Having allowed its shadowy, smoke-like tendrils to pull him further into the chase, he'd welcomed the congenial embrace that forever could've eased the pain of the Wraith dwelling within him: it was but one of the many corporal effects that the One Ring upheld over those few in Middle Earth whom been unfortunate to hold the title of Ringwraith.

Kylo Ren, the Witch King of Mustafar, whom reigned over its frozen and departed lands since his becoming of wraith stature, and held leadership over eight cursed-souls of great kings that'd fallen under the Ring's ability to influence their once mortal minds. Damned to forever serve and protect the One Ring, killing the one who came to bear it other than Dark Lord Sidious himself, Wraiths were deemed creatures of darkness that were neither living nor dead. They felt the presence of the Ring at all times, wandering the lands in an endless hunt until found and returned to the lands of Dathomir where it'd been forged.

Had his body make-up been that of a full Nazgul, the unfulfilled hunger would've been much harder to endure, and his ability to discern the full extent of the Ring's supremacy would've been remarkably stronger. That, unfortunately, would've ensured his suffering to be significantly more substantial, like the other eight Wraiths that'd faithfully served alongside him since Kylo's rebirth from the previous life of an elf.

Whatever those former days of existence entailed, he couldn't have been certain. The only recollection of the past life that'd carried into the news of Kylo serving Lord Snoke, whom acquired his orders through the all-knowing Eye of Lord Sidious, was his ability to fluently speak his former native tongue of Elvish, though it was a language he seldom ever used beyond the adopted lingo of Mustafar's black dialect.

Regrettably, it would've made it easier to know what the other half of his blackened heart desired, considering the Ring's influence hadn't come close to soothing that ardent sort of lust. But the thought of lusting over anything prompted his upper lip to curl if Kylo were to think on behalf of his Elven origins. Elves never ceased to hold such high altitudes of contempt over feelings that resembled envy; which only made the Wraith inside him recoil out of disgust when it came to mulling over such a heavy word.

But that typical sort of affection wasn't what mattered at the moment. Right now, his attentiveness was needed elsewhere, and that he was forced to uncover the new location of where the hobbit filth had disappeared to after the river veered from their area of the forest.

Due to a rabid force that connected his desire to seek out the ancient relic, rendering him internally laden with a numbness to anything that didn't strive to provide what it was he needed, Kylo was certain that the small fellowship hadn't gone far. Eyes closed, he focused on that proverbial throb that served as the Ring's pulse, like a second heartbeat that supported the weakened melody of his own, rather than the gentle ripples coming from the nearby current.

He pondered the notion of crossing the river once he'd been able to pick up their trail, knowing the bank flowed close to the small village of Mos Eisley. Kylo's phobia of water highly contrasted to those of his kind who loomed nearby. But after having sent off his captain, Khamul, whom held the strongest connection to the Ring of Power, along with the other three Nazguls to hunt within the regions near Chandrila, Kylo couldn't afford to abandon the last of his aid in order to put forth the effort of finding the Ring on his own.

"We should consider regrouping our forces, Master," Celebrimbor hissed, conveying his concealed ghostly features to Kylo. His tone was spine-tingling, cold and lifeless, unlike Kylo's ability to have kept his emotions intact throughout the years that followed his passing into becoming a partial Wraith. Rather than bearing the customary pair of vocal chords to strengthen one's ability to speak in various volumes, the voice of an authentic Nazgul was nothing more than a corrupted, voluble whisper. "It would be the wisest of decisions before we continue."

Kylo slowly opened his eyes, breaking the connection he'd held with the Ring to pass an obscured glare to the Wraith on his right, not meriting more than a moment's worth of thought to the unsolicited advice. "That won't be necessary, Celebrimbor," he sneered, reducing his voice to a dangerously low octave. "The Ring is near. I can feel it."

"Indeed," Celebrimbor concurred, "but it is not the distance of which that concerns me."

"Please, do enlighten me with more of your ridiculous fears then," Kylo mused through barred teeth, conceding to the edge in which the Ring's rule had swayed him. "But I can assure the longer we continue to wait along this forsaken river it will grow further and more difficult for us to find if we don't insist on moving."

"You dare to question my judgment, Master?" Celebrimbor seethed.

Kylo's hands balled into fists around the reins of his mount, perilously grating the edges of the layered armor. "As much as you persistently question mine," he starkly countered, jutting his helmet toward the vicinity he perceived the hobbits to have gone. "But if my senses are serving me correctly, I believe our small fellowship is traveling towards Mos Eisley."

"Your presumption serves you well, Master." It was Aramor who decided to speak from the side opposite of Kylo, drawing his master's attention askance. "What Celebrimbor's imploring is that the township is greatly occupied by civilians. Such few of us can't stand against their volume of numbers."

Kylo deliberated over the words, remaining paused in his stance in the process. Aramor was right. It'd always been surprisingly best for them to travel through such areas within the skeletal hours of the evening after all the lights had gone out: that being said by those few in Middle Earth who remained immortal to the blades of man. If Kylo were successfully able to have the situation go his way, he would've been long gone and traveling the river so to no longer keep his own master waiting.

"It is no more than a few hours' ride," Kylo uttered coolly, rearing his head from its angled-pose toward the sky. Not a single star could be seen after the rainclouds started rolling in though the moon continued shining at its brightest. For reasons unknown to his comprehension, it displeased him more to not have stolen a glimpse of the wavering orbs of light that would pepper the night's dark canvas. "We wait 'til the moon has reached its highest peak in the sky – and then we ride out. We should arrive well before dawn approaches. It is likely that the town will be asleep during then."

"And if they're not?" Celebrimbor questioned.

Kylo lowered his helmet to Celebrimor, conferring an irritated growl that neared being animalistic. "They will be but few in number if so: kill them," he snarled, rolling the order from his tongue in ways of the primeval dark speech of Dothamir. "Their demise is coming either way, now is the time to use such mortal fears to our advantage."

* * *

"The Ring of Power," Commander Poe Dameron repeated skeptically, making sure that the words had been heard correctly from his superior, who'd been standing with her back directed towards him whilst staring into the vast depths of Naboo's Woodland Realm. "Are you certain that it's been found?"

Ahsoka nodded as she nervously palmed her hands along the cloudy satin that lined the front midriff to her gown, conveying a soft, glow from nearby torches. The silver halo with portrayals of vines and branches extending upright and around the back of the garment that encircled her crown of mid-torso length, almond hair twinkled in effect to the flickering of flames. Her long tresses shielded all but the narrow tips of her ears. Her shoulders remained squared, tense, pondering the words to enlighten the two elves standing within her presence of what the next course of action would be to such perilous knowledge.

"It has yet to reach the hands of the enemy," Ashoka explained, assuring the worry of her commanding elf. She turned her head askance, speaking over her shoulder in a voice that'd begun to implement a more serious tone. "However, it is safe to assume that it will not always remain that way. It has already attracted the unfortunate attention of those whom it initially calls to by nature."

Rey drew in a sharp breath, her jaw falling lax to the unanticipated news. "What are you saying, my Lady?" She pressed, darting her eyes to Poe, who stood indirectly to the right of her position and met her with a gaze that mirrored the concern of her own.

Poe maintained the rank of Naboo's commanding officer to the Woodland Queen's military, a skilled fighter with keen sights that enabled him to be a master bowman. Already a dangerous warrior by his parentage, Poe was as smart as much as he was cunning, with long and russet-colored hair that extended beneath his shoulder blades. Brandishing the traditional woodland juniper-tinted tunic, his collar reached beneath the prominent definition of his jaw, a pair of slacks that were a shade darker remained tucked into knee-high boots. Bow and quiver strapped to the ready on his back, his thumb tapped anxiously against the hilt of the sword that hung to the side of his hip.

Orphaned at a young age, Rey had come to live within the Woodland Realm after Ahsoka had willingly taken her under a guided wing, long after the days which had been ruled by the kingdom's former queen Padme Amidala. That was when times had been considerably much simpler in comparison to the sorrow that hadn't come to pass. Rey had a home, a promising future with a long-distance love she'd been set to marry, and had clawed her way from the bottom to the upper military rank as Captain of the Guard. She was a remarkable swordsman, a highly-skilled fighter that'd been trained in melee combat with a bowman's substantially keen eyesight.

Being one of few women in disposition to the many ranks that were held by men, her armor had been custom made to accommodate her lean figure. Mirroring the same color hue as Poe's, Rey settled for a narrowly-trimmed tunic beneath the midriff with slits cut out from the waistline. Her armor latticed up the front of her torso with a contrasting shade of bronze that crossed over her bust. Her shoulder pads furnished overlapping layers that resembled Mallorn leaves. The sleeves that provided a protective covering over her arms furnished the resemblance of tree bark, with armored-coils that twisted over the entire length from her wrists to her shoulders. Her auburn-colored hair hung freely around her shoulders, extending to the middle of her back with the sides drawn up into tightly-braided fishbone braids.

"I'm saying that a darkness extending far beyond the borders of our wildest imaginations has been awakened," Ahsoka affirmed. Her hands fell to hang stiffly at her sides, pivoting gracefully upon her toes to face those who she considered to be her most trusted officers. "Rumors concerning the developing activity within the North have begun to spread since the attacks in Mos Eisley."

Rey frowned upon hearing those words, knowing that they struck too close to the events of an earlier occurrence in her life that pertained to the Orcs of Dothamir. "Are you suggesting that orcs are responsible for the attacks?"

Ahsoka's expression grew solemn, drawing in a shuddered breath as she looked to Poe, apprehension prominently lying within the azure irises of her conflicted eyes. "No," she verified, deflecting the query, "the activity that I speak of is said to be coming from Mustafar."

Rey blinked several times as she allowed her mind to absorb the information that it'd recently acquired, rendering her lips to fall agape. She remembered the tales of a great Witch King that'd once inhabited the departed lands of Mustafar. He was a man that'd embraced the title of being the ruler to those of the undead and mutated forms of orcs: adhering to the name of Lord Vader, previously known as the Woodland Elven King Anakin Skywalker.

Anakin took on the persona after becoming heir to the Dark Lord Sidious, precisely the time during which the Rings of Power had been crafted: three had been intended to be worn by the Elves, seven to the Dwarves, and nine to the Kings of Men. It was then that Vader realized what Sidious' intention had been all along. Having forged another ring meant to rule high above all the others in order to maintain power for himself, Sidious knowingly intended to betray Vader rather than follow through with the initial promise of distributing wealth and supremacy to their kingdoms.

Driven by his hatred for Sidious's betrayal, Vader secretly dispersed three of the untainted Rings of Power in effort to save those he loved and cherished: his wife and rightful Queen of the Woodland Realm in Naboo, his daughter Leia Skywalker-Solo of the High Elves in Alderaan and her twin brother, Luke Skywalker, of the Chandrillian Realm.

Ultimately, it led to Vader's untimely death at the hands of the Dark Lord upon his discovery of Vader's voluntary act of valor, resulting in the reasons why Padme fled Naboo in order to reside with Leia in Alderaan. In the years that followed, Sidious had been defeated in a war amongst the Elves and those who continued to reside in Dothamir and Mustafar, and the One Ring had remained lost and forgotten shortly after.

Rey scoffed, the tightness in her chest repressing her ability to speak in a voice that was nothing more than that above a whisper. "But that fortress has been abandoned for years? Are we to assume that Vader has somehow returned?"

Ahsoka took a breath. "That I do not know," she confessed, pivoting on her heal to ascend the short stairway to the throne chair. "I want every border of the kingdom closed," she declared over her shoulder, declaring the prior topic to be officially over. "No one is to leave, and no one is to enter until further notice."

"My lady," Poe uttered, looking to Rey for support, "don't you think it would be wise to investigate further into the attacks on Mos Eisley?"

"What happened in Mos Eisley is not my concern, Commander," Ahsoka declared sharply, pausing at the top of the throne's platform. "Close the borders. Anyone that defies my orders will be banished."

* * *

The walk to the citadel's front gates had never felt so long as it did after the debriefing with Ahsoka. Rey had spent many days passing over the long, narrow pathways that made up the domain of Naboo's interior; enough to the point where she'd been able to walk them whilst having her eyes closed. It wasn't the wisest of things, of course, considering all it would take was one accidental slip in footing and she would've fallen to her death.

But it was in those brief moments whilst paying homage to the backs of her eyelids that Rey had felt his presence. It was faint yet light and present, like the embers she'd seen on the occasional torch, holding onto its last bit of life before it was to burn out completely.

Ben Solo was alive, a belief she'd been grasping a hold of since word traveled to their side of the world that the only Prince of Alderaan was killed during a scouting mission with his father, Han Solo, along with a handful of other riders. They'd been ambushed by orcs, and those whose remains had been found were returned and given the proper service they deserved.

But Ben's hadn't been either of those bodies that'd been returned home: only his bow and quiver had been recovered, drenched in blood: the same articles that she currently held strewn over her shoulder. It made Rey believe even more that he was out there – somewhere – in a world that was surely about to meet the grimmest of destinies that anyone residing in Middle Earth had ever seen.

"I do not think it is Vader," Poe admitted. The sound of his voice breaking the echoes of their boots padding over the wooden walkway hauled Rey from the abyss that was her thoughts. He gave the hazel irises settled with the whites of her eyes a troublesome look, lips tightly pressed. "There have been whispers of movement in Dathomir as well. Some are saying that the mountain of flame has been awoken."

Rey cinched her brows. "This is no coincidence when it coincides to the same activity in Mustafar," she acceded with a curt nod. "But what does this have to do with Vader having not returned?"

Poe skimmed his tongue over his lips, slowing his strides along with Rey's to an abrupt halt. "Because none of this started until after Ben was killed."

Rey cocked her head, eyes strongly fixed on his. "Are you trying to tell me –?"

Poe raised a palm to silence her query. "I'm not saying that he's alive, Rey," he urged in defense. "But what Ahsoka failed to divulge was that the attackers in Mos Eisley were a band of dark riders of sorts – one bearing the helmet of the Witch King."

"Why didn't you say something earlier then?" Rey accused, folding her arms over her chest with a huff.

"I didn't get to put all of the facts together until now," Poe countered. "I was aware of what happened. I just didn't know that it involved the Ring that belonged to Sidious. And it's pretty clear that it wouldn't have deterred Ahsoka's thoughts on the matter."

Rey nodded and swallowed, massaging the knuckles of her clenched fists with her thumbs.

"There's more," Poe started carefully, "rumors also stated that one of the riders was overheard speaking Elvish to Ol' San Tekka."

Rey permitted a gasp to the flutter in her stomach, eyes drawn wide. She recalled hearing of Lor San Tekka during the days when Ben and his father had traveled to visit the village and conversing with the elderly man that held ownership to the Inn, granting the impression that Tekka undoubtedly had some experience speaking such an elegant dialect.

"I'm going," Rey stated in absolute. "If it's Ben then he may still be in the area."

"Rey," Poe sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't want you to get your hopes up if it's not him. And even if it is, it's likely that he's not the same person that you once knew."

Rey shook her head. "I know it's him, Poe. And I won't stop until I find him. Are you coming with me or not?"


	2. Chapter 2

"Rey."

Her body suddenly jolted, awakening with a startled gasp at the unexpected call of her name. She had fallen asleep, her head and shoulder propped alongside the base of a stone pillar, leaving an ear exposed to whoever was near to have murmured their plea, and leaning while doing so, over her sleeping form.

Except when her eyes sprang open Rey's only visible sign of companionship were burning remnants of the campfire that Poe assembled during the earlier hours of evening's descent.

A swell of darkness, unscathed by the fire's warm afterglow, served as a shadowy backdrop beyond the area she'd fallen asleep, its veil within her vicinity was partially broken by small particles of moonlight, peering through cracks and evenly-spaced pillars around the unknown fortress' stone framework.

The echo of her blood pulsing inside her ears raged like a battering war drum, rather than the average steady beat of the heart. Tiny beads of sweat dappled her forehead, extracting a powerful shudder from her muscles that spanned the extent of her shoulders and back, commencing with the evening's bitter cold.

Her more rational state of mind wished to reason with the latter's belief that the voice she heard belonged to Poe rather than Ben, while tentatively scanning her eyes around the circular-shaped fortress. But persuading herself to believe otherwise proved to be more of a struggle when she already knew that her senses reined truth.

Her stomach prickled at the essence of reassurance, setting aside her doubt that the voice was indeed Ben's though it was the manner of how he spoke that made her stomach to churn, sensing the tumultuous pain that he was in. Where he generally allotted affection and fondness within his timbre, the voice that she heard was near warning-like, adding on the allusion of sorrow and desperation and begging for her help.

"Ben?" She called out, her voice hanging above the octave of a whisper. Unfortunately, the deafening song of silence and the wind's eerie moans penetrating holes scattered amongst the fortress' defenses was all that answered.

Rather than raising her voice louder, fearing the chance of waking Poe from his hidden resting place after the long day's worth of traveling, she planted a hand onto the stone pavement beneath her, assisting in the ability to rise from the awkward position she'd settled in.

She winced at the small object that her palm discovered, brows furrowed and confused that it wasn't made of stone like the additional rubble scattered amuck. Slowly, her fingers curled around the foreign artifact and drew it closer to her face, meaning to study it within the dim but suitable lighting.

Eyes narrowed in scrutiny she drew in a sharp breath, recognizing the object that was safely nestled in her hand to be an Alderaanian leaf: a metallic brooch typically worn on cloaks by the Elves of Alderaan. Questions of how it came to be within her possession started to rise, considering the last she'd seen an object similar to the pine green and silver-lined leaf was her last visitation with Ben during Eve of Autumn's final hours – just weeks before his disappearance.

Her bottom lip quivered, tears nipping the backs of her eyes. Carefully, she ran the pad of her index over the familiar accessory, mulling over whether it was fate's way of assuring her that not all hope was lost for Ben. That was before the swift motion drew her awareness toward the dark apparition coming to stand before her, blocking what little light she'd been given by the fire's tepid luminescence.

Her chin rose to distinguish the silhouette's tall and prominently broad stature, consumed by horror as all color from her cheeks drained to ashen. Its face was wholly concealed in darkness by a hooded robe. Chrome gauntlets and protective coverings obscured the figure's hands.

The figure slowly advanced toward her, wielding a sword whose cutting edges appeared ragged and unrefined in its craftsmanship. The figure muttered a word in a language that was far beyond her comprehension, and its blade magically engulfed into an unsteady crimson blaze, moments after drawing the weapon from its holster.

She wanted to scream, instincts urging her to reach for a weapon of her own but the notion was proven fruitless. Every muscle in her body refused to obey the commands of her brain. She could only stare helplessly, eyes fixed on the Wraith drawing back its arm, waiting with borrowed breath as the dark figure took aim at its prey.

The nightmare had ended before the dark assailant was able to attack. Rey ought to have been frightened, for not knowing what might've become of her had she not opened her eyes at that very second. She should've been afraid yet death was something she'd been trained to look in the eye on a daily basis, concerning the wary, living things that'd begun to descend from the northern hills into Naboo.

While the vision clearly gave her glimpses of fear and death, there had also been a sign of hope that a certain life remained at bay. For within the presence of her dark foe she'd heard Ben's voice and, for reasons unbeknownst to her, the Alderaanian trinket was still lying safely in her palm after awakening from the dream.

She hadn't felt more certain that Ben was alive than she did within that moment, though his whereabouts remained behind a veil of mystery. Now, it was just a matter of finding him with what little pieces to the puzzle she was given, and not worry of whether the rival in her dream and Ben were one and the same. While she had purposely set out to discover this dark rider, bearing the only reason for its identity being Ben was its ability to speak Elvish, her reaction to discovering the possibility that her love was living amongst the enemy had yet to be determined.

She carefully clasped the small pin to the neckline of her cloak, wrinkling her nose when she caught a whiff of the foul stench blown by a draft through the cave, where she and Poe had settled into later the night before. The shallow cavern appeared to have been abandoned for some time, regarding the three weathered statues of Cave Trolls within meters of the fissure's entrance, hardened and set in stone.

They had left a vast collection of unguarded treasure: stolen daggers, swords and other forms of weaponry, lifelines forged by the elders of her kin. Had she not been so keen on finding Ben, she would've gathered the elegant weapons and returned them to their true places of rest, and not leave them to rot inside a decaying hole inside the earth. The thought alone made her blood simmer, and she couldn't have gotten out of the cave fast enough to join Poe with the dire need of fresh air.

She found him perched upon a boulder that was somehow split into two equal formations, gazing out at Middle Earth's wide-open grassland that'd begun to show its true colors of rapidly changing seasons, serving as a blemish to the sky's cosmic hues of pinks and orange provided by the morning's late-rising sun. While the sweeping green pastures were tarnished by the cooler temperatures, the surrounding evergreens retained their vibrant hues, providing a rich palette of green that segregated them from the Misty Mountains' softer complexion.

"You're awake earlier than usual," Rey declared, reaching a hand into her satchel to acquire a small piece of Lembas that would silence the subtle rumble in her stomach, freshly wrapped in its original Mallorn covering. It had been days since they'd last eaten and the small ration would surely be enough to fill her for at least another week's journey. She raised the coated wafer up for her companion to take a piece for himself, but Poe kindly declined the offer with a curt shake of his head.

"As are you," Poe countered with a soft bit of sarcasm, turning on his heal to take leave from his look-out. He landed before her with a graceful thud, barely bending his knees when his boots came in contact with the earth. "It is usually mid-morning by the time I see you up and about – on a good day at that."

Rey laughed anemically, knowing that it wasn't from the truth but the frown never reached her face until she lowered her chin, focused on having to carefully refold the crisp ration and return it to the sack that hung loosely at her side.

"What are your thoughts on dreams?" She scoffed, her eyes broadly swept from the satchel to Poe.

His expression made it more than apparent that Poe already knew the direction of which the topic was drifting towards. He knew Rey, better than any other elf in Naboo, enough to know she would never ask such an off-handed question without having some sort of preliminary purpose behind it.

"I think that dreams can be most telling about the person for whom they belong to," Poe mused, drawing his eyebrows up at the need to humor her further. "They are but mere reflections of our innermost fears and desires in life. Sometimes they show us what we want to see, while some can also show us the past – and the present."

Rey swallowed heavily. "And what about the future?" she pressed, her eyes remaining fixed on his.

Poe shrugged, his eyes wide and uncertain. "It's possible I guess. But, like most things that have not yet to pass, the future is always changing. It's never set in stone."

Rey nodded, agreeing to an extent. "But what if there was a way that the future could be changed?"

Poe regarded her skeptically. He hauled his arms into a tense fold over his chest, bobbing a nod. "Go ahead," he assured, lowering his chin. "I'm listening."

Rey drew in a shaky breath, her posture stiffly mirroring his. "I had a dream this morning, and I think it was trying to tell me something about Ben though I can't be certain of what it is."

Poe frowned. "So, you saw him?"

"No," she affirmed, shaking her head. "But I heard him, as clear as I'm able to hear you now. But his sounded – closer."

"Rey," Poe sighed, rolling his neck, "this doesn't mean anything."

Rey flexed her jaw and groaned, perturbed that he wasn't seeing her reasoning. "Then explain to me how I got this," she urged through gritted teeth, pulling at the neckline of her cloak where the Elven brooch visibly clung. "This came to me in my dream and was in my hand when I woke up."

Poe remained undeterred. "That cave was rich in treasures of our kin, Rey," he affirmed. "It doesn't tell us anything."

Rey narrowed her eyes, voice lowering to a whisper. "Do you even know what this is? Or at least withhold some sort of awareness to who wears it?"

"I am very well aware of what that is," Poe replied grimly. "And like all Elves – those from Alderaan are just as mortal to the blade as us. You, of all people, Rey, should know that."

She broke the stare down and lowered her eyes to the stitches that embellished the front of his tunic, her hand clutching the garment on her cloak whilst fighting back the moisture that'd begun to burn her eyes.

The words were painful to hear, but Rey had heard them more than enough to know that she should've expected defeat. Still, it didn't make the fact of knowing she was always alone within her belief that Ben was alive to hurt any less, while evidence continued pointing towards the nether in the eyes of those who lived in disbelief.

"We should get moving," Poe stated serenely, his eyes fixed on the object that she was clutching. "We have a lot of ground to cover before nightfall."

* * *

The rain had just begun its assault when Rey and Poe picked up the faint sounds of voices, crying in distress. At first muffled by engorged raindrops, forcing the drenched fabric on the hoods of their cloaks to cling to their bodies, the shouts for aid quickly rose to the piercing shrieks as the pair leaped with ease over Takodana's rolling terrain. Bows tightly clenched in fists they relied on what little moonlight was given to them and followed the sounds of fearful wails, guiding them to where help was needed.

It wasn't until they came upon the region's highest summit when they caught a glimpse of whose call they'd unwittingly answered. Rey skidded to a halt in her tracks, discerning the familiar scenery and those that'd assembled within the fortress' ruins with eyes wide open. The deafening resonance of blood rushing to her ears, merging with the torrential downpour, hindered her ability to properly hear Poe's amplified words of caution.

Once Rey was able to push past the initial fact that the location was where the events from her dream had taken place, she finally allowed her brain to decipher the images of whom her eyes settled on.

The famous helmet of the Witch King was within her view. And it was then when she finally felt the heaviness of everything come crashing down, regarding the main reason why she and Poe had embarked on the journey. All those years of listening to her intuition that Ben was alive had come down to that very moment, fearing to leave with her heart completely shattered.

"Do not kill him," Rey instructed, lowering her chin from the towering height of the stronghold to Poe at her side. She blinked to rid her lashes of trickling water droplets, eyes firm to enforce the seriousness of her words.

Poe shook his head. "Our weapons do not hold such capabilities," he regretfully assured. "But they can – and will – most certainly kill you. It is the Ring that they want. And they will do what they must to ensure that they get it."

"Then you can find a way to lure the others away," she affirmed. "And get whoever is up there that needs our help to safety. I just need to get him alone."

"Rey," Poe started, bringing his face closer, "you do not know who he is. Whether that thing is Ben, or not, the Ring's power over him is much stronger than anything you could ever offer him."

Rey winced at Poe's rebuke. "You're wrong," she spat, squaring her shoulders with muscles tensed. "There is still light in him – I've felt it. The Ben Solo that I know never would have chosen this life on his own. And that sliver of light remaining is something that's worth fighting for."

Poe ran a free hand over his mouth and nodded, forced to relent. "Just…promise me one thing, okay?" He asked, not allowing Rey to answer as he took a step back. "It is possible that this may not go accordingly, and I need to have your word that you will know the time when to let go."

Rey scoffed at his terms, knowing it was a promise that she couldn't keep. However, for the sole purpose of parting on better terms, since she and Poe would be approaching the mound from opposite sides, she simply nodded. It made it harder to watch him walk away, realizing that her chances of seeing him again were perhaps unlikely.

But Rey wasn't ready to accept ambiguity for fate. Not yet. Not when she could still excel at the mission and bring Ben home, convinced that not all who wandered were lost. The viability of Ben having chosen to become the Witch King at his own accord made as much sense as Rey choosing to have been orphaned, making her believe that it was decided for him.

Reaching a hand over her shoulder, she plucked an arrow from her quiver and made her way to the round-about stairwell, carved into the side of the mountain. She worried the projectile's feathers between her fingers, holding it secure to the weapon's drawstring as she ascended the winding stairs. The air felt heavier the closer she drew to the evil lurking at the top. She forced herself to keep her thoughts clear, senses primed and focused on the objective for that of what she needed to do.

When she treaded over the final set of steps she was able to see the Witch King up close, his back exposed to her, while the other four Nazgul flanked their leader at either side in pairs. She couldn't see the identity of who was holding their attention down along the lone barrier, neither was she able to hear them speak through the deafening raindrops. All she knew was that their swords were drawn and held to attack for a reason.

Swallowing the heavy lump that'd formed at the back of her throat, she raised the bow and arrow to take aim at her target. Holding her breath, she hauled the tension string back with a firm and swift tug, preparing herself for what would happen when she released her grip.

Dihen- nin, Ben, she murmured to herself. And she truly hoped he would forgive her should the evening not end in peril.

* * *

The arrow struck true to its mark, piercing Kylo at mid-shoulder blade. The arrow held its place for a matter of seconds before disintegrating into purified particles of dust. It didn't hurt, not like it would've had he been of true Elven form, but it still nonetheless served a subtle pinch before evaporating into the breeze.

The unexpected hit tore him from the Ring's enchantment, thwarting his awareness past the shrill cries of fellow Wraiths toward the fortress' rear entrance where the projectile had extended from. His blind hatred for the lone archer that his sights settled upon drowned out the surrounding cataclysmic events, as another attacker gained the other Wraiths' attention.

Now, Kylo was too far gone within the uprise in anger to notice that the once hollow sector inside his heart no longer felt so empty. His girth flexed around the hilt of his sword when a powerful gust of wind brought forth the faint aroma of the assailant. The enemy was an elf, judging by the exceedingly lean outline to its figure and the musky smell of earth and honeysuckle, the elf was of the Woodland realm as well as a female.

He was almost surprised that she showed no signs of retreat when he advanced. Instead, he watched her bravely barter the elegant recurve for the sword being drawn from the holster at her hip and took to a defensive stance. He commended her bravery though at the same time found her stupid.

"I have always been aware of the arrogance that elves are capable of possessing," he sneered, stopping suddenly a few steps before her. He towered above her easily, intimidating her more with his height and forcing her neck to crane back. "But such utter stupidity from an elf is something that's quite new to me."

A heavy pause lingered between his insult and her reply as if it hurt for her to speak; although, it wasn't fear that he felt radiating from her. This sort of particular emotion went deeper.

"If that's supposed to frighten me," she countered, her voice pained, "I must regretfully inform you that it doesn't."

There was a familiarity to her voice, nagging and imploring that he knew her somehow, and was nearly worse than the pull emitted by the Ring. Her eyes were hidden beneath the shadowy visage of her hood, deflecting the moon's light as the rain slowly gave way to partially clouded skies. It wasn't as if knowing who she was had mattered to him anyway. Her presence was the reason why the Ring had been taken from his grasp.

"But you should be afraid," he presumed gravely. "Your weapons pose no threat to me. I cannot be killed by man."

Chin held high, her response reined poise. "Then I guess that is unfortunate for you because I'm not a man."

His lips twitched at the corners, though Kylo couldn't resist pitying her. It was clear she had no idea of whom she was wanting to rise up against. All it would take was for him to simply drive his blade into her flesh and she'd be met with a fate far more excruciating, and worse, than death. And that was the lesser of what skills he'd come to fully possess.

The Morgul dagger of a Ringwraith was doused in poison, untreatable by any ordinary medicine other than its powerful antidote, Elven magic. Once the blade was able to acquire the taste of its victim, a shard would break away and remain within the body of its prey. Slowly, the shard would begin evolving into a powder-like substance, and gradually work its way through the body to the victim's heart, resulting in the birth of a newborn Wraith.

But Kylo wasn't interested in turning her. However, the longer he continued speaking to her, the more he found it harder to understand why he hadn't killed her. He could humor her of course, allow her to give a few strikes before he would dispose of her and return to what was needed of him elsewhere.

"Then you are a fool," he affirmed coolly. "And you will die that of a foolish death."

She stared at him and hesitated to move at first, for which he considered leaving had she not insisted on making the initial move. He hastily met the edge of her blade with his, deflecting her downward strike and lunged the full extent of his weight into the block. The motion nearly sent her tumbling over the stairwell's edge though she was quick in her recovery.

She quickly came at him again, and again. Kylo continued to meet her collisions with parries, and every time he all but sent her hurtling over the nearest edge of the summit as their dance continued.

Bearing the majority of her weight on the balls of her feet, she lunged at him with a flying leap into the air. Kylo sidestepped the incoming assault with effortless ease. Pivoting on his heal, the sole of his armored boot came in contact with her plated chest, propelling her like a ragdoll into a mound of rubble and she landed with grunt. Her sword clanged upon contact with the stone flooring, gliding a few feet from where she landed.

"Glenn-, hi," he growled lowly, warning her to flee in Elvish and gave the blade at his side a cautionary flourish. However, the question why he'd chosen to grant her mercy reined at the forefront of his thoughts like a blazing beacon.

He held her shielded gaze for a moment as she proceeded to do with him, her chest heaving from exertion while he showed no signs of tiring. He turned to walk away, ignoring the spasm in his heart that pleaded for his stay, saying that her importance to him was as similar to the Ring's.

But before Kylo was able to withdraw from his actions, he drove the end of his blade through her shoulder as she made a daring effort to catch him off-guard. Eliciting a guttural cry in anguish she fell to the stone paving, her hand grasping the wound that bore the severed piece of the blade.

He crouched alongside her, meaning to finish her off though he couldn't resist wanting to know his assailant's true identity. He raised an armored hand to her hood and slowly urged it back from her face. The moment he saw the clouded irises of her eyes he caught a fleeting glimpse of vivid images, flashing before his eyes.

While the memories weren't his own, Kylo was somehow living within those memorable frames under the guise as an elf, sharing a tender kiss upon a bridge with the same woman that was dying at his feet, and the moon's iridescent glow serving as their spotlight. He was certain he could feel the softness of her lips skimming over his before the image suddenly shifted to the resounding voices of children laughing, running through a forest lit by lanterns.

He continued seeing the same memories as if they were manually set to shuffle on repeat, flickering like a violent strobe of light that forced his eyes to clench shut. It was within the final moments of playback when Kylo finally reeled himself from her, uttering a name with no recollection of how he knew it.

"Rey," he breathed, unaware that his lungs were capable of heaving air. Kylo nearly came out of his lucid skin at the sound of Aramor's unnerving voice as the Wraith approached from the side.

"The ringbearer has escaped with the assistance of the elf and ranger," he hissed, paying no mind to the woman at their feet.

While pondering the next course of action not once did Kylo remove his eyes from Rey. "Follow them," he growled hoarsely. "And do what you must to ensure that you get it this time."

"You're not coming, master?"

Kylo slowly raised his helmet, regarding Aramor's hidden features. "My business is my own," he explained, lowering his voice to a menacing octave, "but I suggest that you do not fail me again."

Aramor silently nodded and left without further dispute; although, Kylo couldn't help but wonder if the Wraith had its own suspicions as to why he insisted on lingering. He slowly worked his eyes back to Rey's, knowing it was only a matter of time before she would enter his world. For Kylo to have his questions of the mysterious connection that he shared with her answered he would need her alive.

Unfortunately, healing someone that'd been infected with Morgul poison required the use of a very complicated ability: one that Kylo was uncertain if he possessed.


	3. Chapter 3

Kylo tightened his arm around her torso, firmly holding Rey's back to his chest, his shoulder providing support for her head. He kept a strong grip along the underside of her arm with an armored hand, his other tightly grasping the reins. He urged the steed into the darkness, driving it hard and fast, while its hooves viciously pummeled the plains of Middle Earth. And its defiant snorts and grunts resounded into the night.

The splinter of Morgul blade had begun claiming its victim: more rapid than he'd anticipated it would. He hoped to have had them residing in Mustafar before the venom started spreading further into her system. However, as the minutes passed into hours, the likelihood that Rey would survive the journey turned bleak.

He could feel a part of him die as she neared that abysmal shadow of death and the void in his heart was burrowing itself deeper into his chest as the rhythm of her pulse slowly diminished. Now it had come down to being nothing more than a race against time. Every breath that she took was quickly becoming her last amongst the living.

"Stay with me," he hissed. "Do not give in, Rey. You have to stay with me."

Her name rang as peculiar to his ears, yet its appeal on his lips was familiarly sweet. Like the kiss in his vision. It felt as if he'd said her name aloud for days – years even – rather than hours. Instead of a few simple words in response, the abhorrent sound of her lungs choking on air came in place of her voice, letting forth a cry that sounded freakishly inhuman.

Kylo knew that it was only a matter of time before the poison's effects would swallow her completely, bringing him to the conclusion that he would have to hinder her transformation sooner rather than later as he'd planned. By doing so, he would need to cast aside every desire of the Wraith and cave to his instincts of elven nurturing.

He had to heal her – now. Except one crucial element was missing.

The Kingsfoil plant was a healing herb, most commonly used to disinfect wounds and lessen pain; although, it was one that also grew sparsely and found only in thickets. Having to find a rare plant in such stark lands at night would be a challenge of its own, along with the fact of being uncertain if he was even capable of healing her.

But Kylo would worry about the latter should that moment ever come. He needed every sense of his to be finely honed and find the herb in question; specifically, his sense of smell, regarding Kingsfoil's poignant fragrance. Fortunately, he traveled no more than a few miles from their previous location, discovering the herb's minuscule-sized white flowers nestled inside a small area of forest groundcover.

He eased her frail body from the mount with vigilant care into his arms, leaving her bow and quiver behind with his gloves. He would need full contact with the flesh around the wound, though removing the fragment of steel from the affected area for Rey to heal properly would have to be saved for when they completed their journey. Right now, he was merely buying her extra time.

Maintaining his grasp under her knees and back, he carefully positioned her onto the detritus turf, bearing in mind not to move her in ways that would intentionally cause her more pain. It wasn't until he had her completely settled under the moon's luminosity when Kylo was able to finally see how far she'd faded, retaining her soul-piercing gaze as he knelt beside her.

Her irises were as cold as ice, bluer than the purest water that could be found in Middle Earth with pupils dilated to the size of needle points. The ashen-colored pigmentation of her cheeks and face reflected lucid and grave in the moonlight. He gave her no more than a day before she was to resemble him in appearance.

For reasons unbeknownst to him, he was tempted to reach out and touch her face in a way that an enemy shouldn't have wanted, meaning to ensure he wasn't about to allow the darkness claim her as it had him; although, how he came to be a Wraith was vaguely known.

But he didn't.

His eyes lowered to inspect the incision on her shoulder. He tore open the shredded piece of fabric in order to apply the remedy directly to the wound. The flesh surrounding the lesion was rapidly decaying, a dark web of infection splayed over a sizeable fraction of the area. He would be surprised if it wouldn't leave a scar if he succeeded in what he was about to do.

Kylo closed his eyes and tuned out the rustling leaves that moved steadily with the breeze. The words and motions came to him as he gathered a small batch of the herb, palming it with his hands. He rolled the greens in a slow and circular motion, reciting the terms in a hushed voice.

"Menno o nin na hen i eliad annen annin, hen leitho o ngurth. Menno o nin na hen i eliad annen annin, hen leitho o ngurth."

Repeating the phrases to the chant, Kylo pressed the vegetation to her wound, his hand cupping the other. The more he recited the words, the more he felt himself drifting further into the trance, droning out Rey's asphyxiated cries in pain.

He could feel the magic's warmth surge through his chest, presenting itself as golden particles of light that extended through his fingers and palms. It felt like nirvana, peaceful, and serene as if the heavens of Valinor had descended upon him.

Within the moments it took to complete the procedure, his obsession with the Ring was forgotten, and it was Rey's feeble voice that awoke him from the mystical enchantment.

"Ben," she whispered softly.

Had Kylo not opened his eyes, he never would've witnessed the faint smile tug at the corners of her mouth. She stared at him as if she had spoken directly to him, addressing him by a name that should've been foreign; yet hearing her say it sounded familiar.

He held her gaze, appearing no longer icy yet still deviant. A tear descended her cheek from the corner of her eye when she blinked and she slowly drifted into unconsciousness, leaving all questions relevant to Ben to be left unspoken for now.

* * *

From the balcony of the quarters in which Poe was given earlier, he watched the sun rise above the summits of Chandrila, amazed by the hidden valley's beauty that many only imagined in their thoughts and saw in their dreams. The great elven city was built into the side of a mountain ravine, forested with trees whose leaves had begun turning variant shades of yellow and red, and waterfalls cascading into bottomless depths from caverns.

As the morning light ascended higher into the sky, thousands of leaflets swiftly resembled burning flames of torches, the falls appearing as streams of flowing lava. As much as its beauty was a sight worth beholding, it failed to relieve him of worry if Rey survived the previous night's events. And not knowing had begun to trouble him something fierce.

The last he was able to recall seeing Rey was moments after her gaining the Witch King's attention, leaving him to entertain the other Wraiths as the small fellowship of the Ring fled Takodana, along with the additional help of a ranger, Finn.

Finn was a human ranger and known by the common folk as 'Strider' who insisted they should lead the hobbits to Chandrila's secret entrance, knowing the Wraiths wouldn't dare consider crossing the blessed waters of Baranduin, and assured that the Ring would be safely hidden there.

But how did a ranger from the South discover the secret sovereignty of Luke Skywalker when very few, whom of which extended beyond the origins of elves, knew of its whereabouts? And why had he been the only individual granted permission to go before Skywalker then with his plea for them to stay in Chandrila, rather than a descendant of their kin?

With his worry for Rey and the bitterness lodged in his chest toward Finn, his feral instincts of a woodland upbringing took over when intuition alerted him of a newcomer entering the dome-shaped interior of his chambers unannounced. Bow tightly clenched in hand, Poe had the arrow seized from his quiver and drawn for release as he whirled upon his heels, promptly greeting Finn just as he was about to pass through one of the three archways that led onto the terrace.

"Whoa!" Finn exclaimed and immediately stopped in his tracks, palms raised in surrender. "Easy there," he huffed. "It's just me."

Poe scoffed and displayed no signs of lowering the arrow. "What do you want?"

Finn blinked, not minding the few strays of dark and wavy shoulder-length hair whisk over his face, captured by a short gust of wind. If there was one thing he'd neglected to remember about Woodland Elves it was their native tendency to be less wise and more dangerous, converting them from friend to foe within a matter of seconds; unlike their kinship from Chandrila and Alderaan. It was unwise to have inadvertently crept up on Poe when his kind was known to be aggressive.

"I was just coming to inform you that Luke has requested an audience," Finn huffed, holding Poe's rigid stare. "He is organizing an assembly for those of us who arrived the other night – and has also requested the presence of a few others."

"So now I'm trustworthy enough to be within his majesty's company?" Poe snarked.

Finn crumpled his brows, lips carting into a frown. "With all due respect, it wasn't his intention to purposely offend you if that's what you're thinking," he explained, eyes flatly set on Poe's. "I can assure you will find no enemies here – mellon."

Poe regarded him, his fierce look softening at the elvish word for friend. Slackening his draw on the arrow's tension, he lowered the projectile that'd been aimed at the ranger's throat, earning an evident sigh in relief from Finn.

"Thank you," Finn sighed as he lowered his hands. "And I never did get a chance to thank you properly for your help yesterday."

With a scowl on his face, Poe shrugged and returned the arrow to his quiver. "While I do appreciate the gesture, I'm not the one who needs to be thanked," he grumbled, eyes retaining a petulant glare. "It is my friend who should be receiving your gratitude."

Finn tilted his head, eyes eliciting remorse. "Right, I remember –."

"Listen, friend," Poe interrupted, averting the subject, "how does a ranger manage to gain Skywalker's trust over an elf?"

Finn snorted and shook his head, obliged to enlighten him furthermore on details that were deemed significant enough to satisfy Poe's query. "Skywalker took me in when I was a child," he affirmed. "I guess you could safely say he's pretty much been a father to me. He had just returned from a hunting party shortly before we arrived. It was best if I had been the one to go to him."

Poe raised his brows at Finn's declaration, having not pegged him to have once been housed by such an elegant realm in stature. His jaw, lips, and chin was raggedly covered with stubble, sporting attire that appeared to be well-worn and weathered: judging by the visible blemishes of dirt, mud, and sweat that tarnished Finn's matching leather-brown tunic, overcoat, and pants. And his boots had certainly seen better days over the years, showing signs of their incessant use and heavy wear.

Finn cleared his throat and drew his arms over his chest. "Anyway, I answered your question; I find it to be fair that you answer mine."

Poe grimaced. "Alright," he nodded in apprehension, "fair enough I suppose."

"What prompted two Woodland Elves to travel so far from Naboo?"

Poe took a breath. "We were tracking the Wraiths," he growled, "specifically the Witch King."

Finn frowned, his shoulders squared tense. "The Witch King?"

Poe rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you know the tall scary guy with all of the chrome apparatus?" He sneered, signifying the Wraith's remarkable difference in height with his hand. "You couldn't have missed him."

"Yes, yes, I am aware of who the Witch King is but…" Finn veered off from his words, adopting a more impassive look. "Okay, Poe, I promise that we'll find your friend. But it would be great if you would consider helping us along the way."

Poe opened and closed his mouth quickly, reluctant to respond. "Okay," he replied skeptically, thumb nervously tapping the curvature of his bow. "But I want to hear what Skywalker has to say first."

Finn nodded curtly. "Of course, thank you."

Poe snorted and advanced past him. "Don't thank me yet."

* * *

Finn led Poe along Chandrila's abundance of footpaths, lining the city's exterior passageways. The closer they came to entering the Chamber of Council, the more Poe became anxious to meet the legendary Luke Skywalker.

He recalled the stories heard as a child, associating Luke's bravery in reference to the war that once raged amongst Elves and Men and even those who had faithfully served Dark Lord Sidious. It was known as the final age in which Men and Elves had fought alongside one another, bearing a mutual goal to destroy Sidious and his Ring of Power.

It wasn't long after Vader's passing when the great battle for Middle Earth erupted at the fiery base of Dathomir's volcanic mountain, where Lord Sidious eventually had met his doom at the hand of Coruscant's king, Lando Calrissian. With Vader dead, Sidious' forces were greatly weakened without the power of their ruthless Commander. Lando, his blade garnished by the enchantment placed upon the sheath of the sword, had severed the Ring from Sidious' hand, killing Sidious in the act.

Luke witnessed who destroyed Sidious from a nearby skirmish with orcs, and encouraged Lando to cast the Ring into the fiery heart of the mountain's molten lake, the only way in which the Ring could be destroyed. Lando took the Ring from the fallen Lord's hand, proceeding to do precisely what Luke had suggested. However, after entering the mountain, Lando surrendered himself to the Ring's influential power and claimed the Ring as his own.

Lando believed that the Ring could promote goodness in the world, while it prominently showed signs of adhering to its one and only true master. The Ring eventually betrayed Lando and escorted him to his death, years after its effortless attempt to poison his mind, rendering it lost and forgotten for those who lived among its time were no longer among the living.

Now, being able to see Luke, a living prodigy, in person seemed ethereal. After three centuries his youthful features had remained, like all elves after crossing that similar gap in age. His sandy-blonde hair flowed gracefully over his shoulders and back, elegantly braided along his face with a platinum halo, indicating his regal status. The amber shade of velvet on his robes glistened against the sun's sparkling rays, displaying the swirl of textiles over its exquisite fabric, partially covering the mauve knee-length tunic he wore underneath.

His eyes were a stormy shade of blue, perplexed as he gazed beyond the central podium, perceiving faces of those who had come to gather at his beckoned call. He graciously acknowledged each and every individual with a smile, including the few newcomers who sat amongst those who made the Ring's initial fellowship.

A small number of elves, who Poe presumed to be from Chandrila, strode in with a few more from Alderaan, and the wandering grey wizard known as Amilyn Holdo. Her lavender-shaded hair and striking cobalt eyes were giveaways to her name, including the long wooden staff she always insisted on carrying. A man named Ezra Bridger from Coruscant was also among those who were present, bearing the Horn of Coruscant over a shoulder. And a dwarf named Bee-Bee from the Lonely Mountain: a magnificent dwarf kingdom that was known for its riches in diamonds and gold.

Great, Poe muttered to himself.

His upper lip curled in reverence to Naboo's distaste with dwarves, knowing them to be laden in greed and arrogance, as he claimed a begrudged seat between Finn and said dwarf. Aside from the dwarf's indecipherable mumblings in native dwarvish lingo, which disappeared in the vastness of hair in the dwarf's beard, he paid no attention to Poe's presence. He simply tightened the grip that his pudgy fingers held around the handle of his axe, waiting for the Elven Lord to begin the session.

Without so much as uttering a word, Luke presented the One Ring for all who sat beneath the circular awning and freely left lie upon the stone podium for all to see. There was an immediate eruption of chatter in dismay among those who hadn't been aware of the Ring's discovery. After a few solid moments of allowing boisterous gossip, Luke raised a hand for silence.

"The Ring of Power has been found," Luke gravely spoke, his eyes skimming over concerned faces. "And the Dark Lord Sidious has returned."

"That's impossible." The voice in disbelief came from one of the Alderaanian Elves.

"But Sidious was destroyed." The expression was quickly raised by another.

"Somehow," Luke spoke again, his voice elevating in sound, "the spirit of Sidious had returned and is rebuilding his forces in secrecy. But without the Ring, and the Witch King, he remains undoubtedly weak."

Poe scoffed. "That's not true," he corrected, ignoring the quizzical glances from those who were fortunate enough to not have experienced the events at Takodana.

"What are you suggesting?" Holdo questioned, leaning in her seat a few chairs down from Poe to better see him.

"I'm saying that the Witch King has returned as well," Poe countered frankly. "My friend and I encountered him at Takodana the evening before. The remaining Wraiths followed us on the way here."

Luke regarded him with a somber expression. "Are you sure it was the Witch King you saw?"

Poe nodded, appearing overconfident. "I would recognize that helmet anywhere, my Lord."

Finn cut into the conversation. "I can attest the truth behind Poe's allegations. His friend, Rey, was brave enough to have kept him busily engaged, while Poe assisted in our escape."

Luke was silent for a moment, eyes altering their fixation on Finn and Poe. Whatever thoughts lingered on his mind, he kept them to himself. "If what you're saying is true," he stated slowly, "then this will surely rise the stakes for the task that I'm about to present. The Ring must be destroyed. And doing so will destroy the evil of embarked from it."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Bee-Bee barked as he jumped to his feet, motioning the point of his axe toward the Ring. "Destroy it!"

"It is not that simple I am afraid, Bee-Bee," Luke grimaced, motioning his hand for the dwarf to sit. "The Ring can only be destroyed by the very fires where it was originally forged."

"So, you are suggesting that someone is to carry it to Dathomir?" One of the Chandrillian Elves implored.

Luke nodded, leading the moment into an intense silence. To the surprise of most who had gathered, it was one of the Hobbits who dared to speak up in contribute.

"I will take the Ring to Dathomir," Artoo offered tentatively, his eyes nervously flickered amongst those faces who gazed back in shock. "Though I'm afraid I do not know the way."

Finn and Poe exchanged knowing glances. If it was Finn's intent to imply that an escort was needed for the one who wished to bear the burden of taking the Ring to Dathomir then, perhaps, Poe would be able to find Rey along the way. The pair stood simultaneously, pledging their oaths to protect and guide Artoo along the perilous treck.

"You have my sword," Finn promised.

"And you have my bow," Poe assured with a nod.

Bee-Bee stood again, excitedly tapping the hilt of his axe into the ground. "And you have my axe."

* * *

The pain was excruciating like something had physically torn her insides to shreds. Rey tried to fight it, tried to listen to what that long-distant voice told her to do though it was a battle that couldn't be won on her own. She surrendered to the poison in her veins and the world around her slowly ceased to no longer exist as she had known it.

It had grown cold and dark, save for the small light that nested at the end of the tunnel she was moving towards. Her vision warped to seeing things as solely being black and white, no longer bright and vivid. She was falling into another dimension, one that was nothing like the tales from those who had come from the afterlife in stories.

But that's what fairy tales were for, always sugarcoating the unknown to ease one's mind though it wasn't death that she feared. The light she initially saw was suddenly covered by darkness. The pain that was once present dissipated, leaving her body numb and cold – so cold, yet her muscles were unable to shiver.

Then something told her to look to the side and that was when she saw him, Ben, his form solid and clear, hovering above her as if meaning to arouse her from a late afternoon's rest. He looked just the same as he did when Rey last saw him before he disappeared. His long raven hair was evenly drawn over his shoulders, face creamy and insipid, eyes laden with love, pulling her from the cold to his warmth.

She wanted to reach out and touch him, his hair and face, but something was holding her back. Like, her hands were being held down by weights, save for her ability to say his name. The portal started to change again, and she was rapidly hauled from the unknown into a world that was more familiar.

And then everything went dark.

An unknown number of days had past when she next woke. This time, her eyes perceived a significantly different scenery and yet, somehow, the essence of it remained the same. The room was cold and solemn, the only source of light extended from the moon, beaming through a single arched window that was on the wall alongside her bed. Its rays revealed the icy particles of frost, carried by the wind from the kingdom's frozen and barren land beyond the fortress' interior.

Slowly drawing her knees into a fold, she rose from her back to a seated position, allowing herself to better see her new surroundings. She narrowed her eyes, perceiving the outline of a stone hearth forged into the wall opposite of her, unlit save for what was provided by the moon. She winced as a chill shivered through her body, now aware of the tenderness on her shoulder where the wound was in its early stages of healing, bandaged with a dark cloth. She raised the palm of her hand to massage away the ache beneath the fabric of her tunic, noticing the absence of her armor and weapons.

"I would advise that you not do that."

Rey gasped and whirled her head toward the direction of his voice. Ben's voice. He was there in the very same room as her. After what seemed to be another hopeless search for him, fearing it was another figment of her mind playing tricks on her, she found him, crouched in a corner crosswise from the foot of her bed. His helmet and armored gloves were gone. All that remained visible to her eyes was the outline of a dark robe, its hood drawn over his head, gloves covering his hands.

"It was difficult to retrieve the entire fragment of the blade," he explained. "Your wound runs deeper than the piercing itself. It will take some time for your body to fully recover on its own."

Her eyes blinked at a more rapid pace, her mouth opened but found that no words were able to follow. She found herself unprepared when she had been the opposite just days before. So, she nodded, finding it better than to say nothing at all.

"Thank you," she murmured after taking a few moments to find her voice, lacking knowledge as to where the conversation should go from thereafter. She just sat and stared, waiting, hoping that he would be the one to seize the reins to the discussion. And to her relief, he finally did.

"You're welcome," he assured and gave her a brief nod, "Rey. That is your name, is it not?"

She took a breath and nodded as well, and her eyes rose with his form as he slowly extended to his full height. Her heart began to speed beyond that of its normal pace inside her chest, listening to the sound of metal from his boots clank against the stone floor as he sauntered past the foot of her bed, arms hanging free at his sides. With the face of his hood towards the ground, he appeared to be contemplating his words.

"The night after Takodana, you called me Ben," he affirmed, pausing at the opposite corner of her bed from where he previously stood. "Though I do not understand why. It is a name that's not familiar to me but," he paused and raised his head to look at her, "it still makes me curious. Do I know you, Rey?"

Rey nodded again, worrying the thin fabric of the quilt that covered her legs between her fingers.

"Are we enemies?"

Her head shook this time. At least they hadn't been until now. She found it easier to stay mute, knowing it was impossible to tell someone, with no recollection of who she was and had become the enemy, that they were in love with the said person. She decided it would be best to keep it simple then and let him come to the conclusion on his own – if it were at all possible.

"You are Ben Solo," she assured confidently with a heavy swallow, "son of Han, and future King of Alderaan."

He nodded again and began to move closer. "And you?"

Her chin tilted as he drew near, eager to get a glimpse of his face that was hidden by the cloak's visage. But when he stopped in front of her there was nothing but a shadow in the place of his features. She realized that she would have to speak to the faceless figure if she intended to reach him.

"I'm Rey," she uttered in a voice that was quieter than necessary. "I'm nothing more than a captain of Naboo's guard."

He cocked his head, contemplating. "But there's more to it, isn't there?"

Her chest began to feel heavy from repressed words, imploring to be spoken. "If you are wondering whether it is history that we have together or not," she scoffed, "then the answer is yes."

"And what sort of history is it that you're hesitating to mention?"

Her face grew solemn. "I think that you already know the truth," she whispered. "Otherwise I wouldn't be here – alive."

More silence fell between them and she watched him as he appeared to be pondering a reaction; whether it was by words or motions eluded her. He must've settled for the latter because his hand visibly twitched at his side, struggling with a significant gesture though it might have been irrelevant to the ordinary commoner. For them, it was something so much more.

He finally assembled the courage to place a hand on her cheek, and the coldness that emitted the leather of his glove was unlike anything she had ever experienced from winter. She couldn't explain it, other than the chill from his touch halted her breath, yet she didn't want to make any sudden movements. She didn't want to do anything that could possibly drive him from what he was doing.

She closed her eyes and swallowed, drawing in slow and steady breaths through her nose and stayed silent. She couldn't say how much time passed since they came to be in that position, but it was the moment in which she felt his thumb graze along the apple of her cheek when her eyes opened.

"I didn't want this to happen, Rey," he whispered gruffly. "It was always supposed to be you and me."

She wanted to smile and laugh, anything that could've shown she was happy to hear his words, but the dam that was holding back her tears finally crumbled. And she couldn't suppress the sob as she settled a trembling hand over his on her cheek, no longer minding his icy touch.

"I am so sorry," he confessed and cupped his other hand to her uncovered cheek. "Please forgive me."

"I do forgive you, Ben," she admitted through a hiccup in her cries, sniffing. "What happened doesn't matter. Just let me see you, please. Let me see you."

His thumb stilled on her face. "I don't think that's such a good idea."

Blinking, Rey scoffed at his words, troubled by their ominous meaning. Ignoring his initial words of warning, she moved to reposition herself on her knees, hands extending to push back his hood. What she saw managed to spiral her stomach into knots, allowing her hands to fall upon his shoulders as tears descended over her cheeks, distorting her vision of the ghost in front of her.

His eyes were no longer warm or the soft shades of honey and brown but were brilliant pools of light, offset by dark spaces where his pupils would be. His long hair was fortunate to have maintained its raven color, and the elegant silver halo that encompassed his crown. His skin, however, had suffered the most, scarred and no longer its former creaminess that was once powdered by beauty marks. He looked as if the moon had completely swathed him in iridescent lighting, yet not enough for him to be wholly transparent.

When Rey finally allowed her mind to absorb the images that her eyes projected to it, she managed to utter a sentence that was surprisingly coherent.

"What happened to you?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Then...**

A red sun had risen in the sky that morning, clouds shaded in hues of crimson and coral. Blood was spilled the night before at a small village, of which the elves from Alderaan learned after it was too late, and the innocent lives had already been claimed.

Han Solo along with his son Ben, the King and young Prince of Alderaan, led the company of a dozen men there just before sunrise, discovering the brutal tactics in the massacre belonged to one race in Middle Earth. The word of orcs descending from Dothamir into the valley had spread amongst the realms like a rabid sickness, rumored to be led by a great pale orc whose vile reputation ceased to never know restraint.

They piled what was left of the bodies into a heap at the center of the village and burned them. The potent smell of charred human and orc flesh filled their nostrils. A dense cloud of black smoke ascended from the mound, its heat blurring their vision of the sun.

Han took a few of their men with him to search the outskirts of the village, hoping to find survivors that might have fled into the nearby thicket. Ben stayed behind with the ones who remained, his eyes never leaving those of the dead. Not only had there been men found amongst the deceased, but there were women and children also. If he were to close his eyes he could be certain that he would hear their screams; although their voices wouldn't have been the only ones calling to him.

He stared into the sparks as the flames climbed to the summit of the corpses, envisioning the figure of who he saw and heard in his darkest dreams: aphotic in appearance and always surrounded by shadow and flame, his voice one of an ancient enemy.

"Excuse me, my Lord."

Heeding to the neurotic edge in his subordinate's voice, Ben cast aside his emotions and looked away from the burning heap to see Mitaka, his captain, approaching. "What is it, Mitaka?"

The other elf cleared his throat and swallowed, reluctant to be the bearer of such news. "We found one of them alive, sir."

Ben cocked his head, brows furrowed. "One of _them_ ," he sneered. "As in man or orc?"

Mitaka nodded, his motion barely visible. "An orc, sir. Your father wishes to bring him back to Alderaan for questioning."

Ben snarled at the newfound knowledge. _Of course_ , he thought.

His father would insist that they bring the filth home for a proper interrogation rather than take what was needed then and dispose the vermin into the pile with the rest of its kind, even though cremation was far from what the creature deserved. He would have rather left the orc to rot and be picked apart by birds and other species of scavengers. But Ben wasn't as merciful to their enemies as his father who would pardon them if they wished to cooperate and set them free.

Ben leveled his chin and nodded for Mitaka to show him to the prisoner in question, nostrils flaring with his jaw set. He would need the patience if Han meant to keep the orc alive after; however, this time, he hoped that it wouldn't be the case.

They were met by Han and his group behind one of the settlement's smaller in-size shanties with a straw-covered roof outside the village, where the orc stood amidst the assemblage of red and gold elven armor, its hands bound at the wrists behind its back, and safely guarded by two other elves.

Ben was surprised to see it taller than the average orc, standing nearly shoulder height to its guards, when they typically reached children-sized. Its hair was drawn back from its face and hung in tightly-braided dreads that draped past its broad shoulders, concealed by its barbaric armor. It measured his every move with jaundiced eyes as Ben approached, snarling and revealing its rows of razor-sharp fangs.

He shared a look with its keepers and silently addressed them both with a brief nod, snubbing the advisory of Han's frown. Acknowledging the subtle command of his leader, the elf in which stood to the right of the prisoner forced the orc to its knees, jarring the crook of its leg with his heel. Smug, he watched the orc fight to free itself as the guard seized hold of its dreads, the blade of a dagger held to its throat, demanding the orc's submission.

"It is time for all foul things to come forth." Ben's voice was low when he spoke and moved to stand closer to the orc, hands curled at his sides in fists. "You have descended upon our lands and have taken lives to those who are innocent. Why are you here?"

The orc growled at his words and thrashed its head, striving to free itself of the guard's grip. When the orc neglected to escape and finally spoke, its response was less than accommodating to Ben's question.

"I do not answer to dogs, _elf_ ," the orc seethed.

Ben grunted and raised a brow at the creature's insult.

"I would not antagonize him," its keeper hissed, urging the dagger further into the creature's cankered flesh. "Now answer the question."

Ben continued to hold the orc's fearsome gaze but the orc was persistent and demonstrated little to no signs of surrender, guaranteeing its head would be lost to him before the interrogation was over.

Unmoved by the response to his son's use of aggressive tactics, Han joined Ben at his side. "Tell us what we need to know," Han asserted in a voice that was more affable, "and I can guarantee that you will have your freedom."

Stunned by the offer at first the orc leveled its expression, trying the elves' patience further as it thought to reconsider its choice to stay mute. It was Ben who noticed the unsubtle shimmer of mischief in its eyes when the orc finally decided to indulge all that it knew, its tone ominous.

"Death is upon you all," the orc mused, snickering at its own humor. "The flames of war are upon you, as our time to rise above is finally coming again." The orc paused to consider their crestfallen faces and spoke slower. "My master serves no one. And we will no longer be forced to bow before you."

"What are you talking about?" Ben seethed, baring his teeth.

"Don't you understand, _elf_?" The orc sneered. "War is coming to you all and your world will burn. Do you understand now? Death is upon you all! Death is -."

Ben's sword was drawn before the orc had a chance to finish its sentence, severing its head with a clean cut from its neck. The lifeless body toppled to the ground, leaving only the head to be held by its guard.

"Why did you do that?" Han barked. "There was more he could've told us."

Ben was quiet for a moment as he frowned at the fallen orc, allowing his thoughts to digest the last of its words. There was a particular sort of darkness coming, one that would bring the world to its end in fire and ruin, led by a source who had somehow been resurrected from the grave. Now, his vision had begun to make sense and his greatest fear was officially awake.

"There was nothing more to be said of which that I didn't already know." Ben's upper lip curled at the snarl as he returned the sword to its sheath at his hip. He turned to Han then, eyes pointed and severe. "Did you not hear him? Sidious has returned."

Han pinched his lips as his hands settled on his waist, unaffected by the revelation. "We do not know if this is for certain and we could have found out more if you would've kept yourself together for once."

"You would rather take the word of an orc over mine?" Ben accused and moved to withdraw himself from the group, leaving Han to follow at his heels.

"Those are visions, Ben," Han called out to him. "Foresight should never be taken lightly, it is always in motion."

Ben whirled around at that, bringing Han to a sudden halt.

"And what if I am right? What if something has been moving before us and has remained unseen?" His eyes flickered over Han's, searching for an indication that the probability of his words was reaching him. Slowly, he could see that glimmer of realization start to sink in, encouraged to continue. "We have all been living blind. And as a consequence, the enemy has been allowed to return."

Han regarded him, reluctant in saying the words aloud and of which his son had always known to be his father's biggest weakness. However, the sound of an arrow piercing the air relieved Han from having to express the truth as Ben was struck in the shoulder by the first Morgul arrow, bringing him to his knees and rolling to his back. And the arrow was followed by the tips of dozens more.

The horde of orcs had come out of nowhere, astride the backs of oversized wolf-like mounts known as wargs, hollering with satisfaction as every elf fell to the venom of their projectiles, not caring when a few of their own were hauled from their mount as they were also met by arrows from the elves.

The pain was unlike anything Ben had ever felt and he cried out in newfound agony when Han removed the arrow from its mark. Everything continued to pass in a blur as he could feel himself succumb to the poison's dire effects, drifting in and out of momentary unconsciousness, his body slowly turning numb from pain. The last thing that Ben remembered seeing was Han's body fall over him with the points of three arrows in his chest, surrounded by the few who were lost to the gnashing of teeth.

His final moments were spent reverting to those days in which he last saw Rey, reminded of their stolen kisses, promising one another a future that would never come to pass. How he would give anything to see her again and tell her that he loved her.

* * *

 **Now…**

The memories ended there, and Kylo couldn't recall how he'd come to live within that very same nightmare of which he always feared. And how he inadvertently followed the footsteps to fulfill his grandfather's legacy as the Witch King. He was no longer Ben Solo but Kylo Ren, a creature of darkness, rebirthed and groomed to lust over an object that would never allow him to be fully satisfied, as the other part of him longed for something just as equally powerful to his needs.

While he was once meant to be Alderaan's future king, he was somehow steered down the direction of a much darker path, as the sole purpose of a Ringwraith was to do one thing: find and return the One Ring to its master. But that's where the road for him would eventually stop, not knowing what was to become of him after.

There was also the question of whether he would be able to surrender the Ring if the relic should come to be within his grasp, and then, there was Rey, who his love for was revived, along with those other long and forgotten painful memories.

Asking Rey to stay with him would be the most selfish of decisions he could make at this time, and she would likely be killed if Snoke, or Sidious, discovered his division of loyalties. If he were to leave with her, he'd put them at the risk of being hunted and killed, including those of whom they would ever come in contact with. He would be deemed a traitor, and an aid to the enemy while being forced to set aside the part of him that longed for the Ring.

Two paths were laid before him and neither of them could give him happiness.

"I know this was a life chosen for you," Rey uttered softly, "but it has been done for a reason. And one that _you_ must choose to do with what's been given."

Kylo looked at her and grimaced. The golden light from the fire inside the hearth, lit by a servant for her as a source of warmth, brightened half of her profile while she faced him sitting. She spoke as if he had been given a gift when it was clearly not. Being a Ringwraith was a curse, a nightmare that could never be woken from.

His expression turned grim. "No path exists to where good can come from this.".

Rey shook her head, determined to make him see. "It is already laid before you, Ben. _You_ are Vader's heir. What he failed to accomplish you must finish."

"I do not have the strength to take on Sidious _and_ Dathomir alone. And Snoke? I would be surprised if he's not aware of my absence by now."

Her expression softened at that. "You are not alone," she assured with added grit. Her hand reached for his, still concealed by the glove, eyes set on his. "You have me. Let me help you."

He looked at her hand covering his and lingered for a moment, measuring her words. His gaze rose to hers then, and he was met with the same look she always gave him. Love. Compassion. Understanding. How could she still look at him like that? As if he had never turned into a monster who would kill for a Ring - _had_ killed for a Ring. And he would do it again. And again. It was an ardent sort of urge, that no amount of love for her, could ever save him from.

"I could never ask that of you," he confessed, his tone laden with sadness. "You deserve more than this, a life away from grief and despair."

Rey held firm with the offer. "I think that choice is mine alone to make. And I will always choose you. I would rather spend one lifetime with you, however dim or sorrowful it may be, than face all the ages of this world alone."

Ben closed his eyes and shook his head, though no tears were present to be shed that could express the melancholy of which he felt. "Rey…"

Her grip tightened on his hand and brought it to her chest, moving closer toward him to compensate for what little distance separated them. She settled it over her heart, beneath the tender spot of the wound he gave her and covered his gloved hand with both of hers. He could feel the organ's slow and steady rhythm pulsate beneath his palm. It was the exact same as his own, a reminder they were both alive. He looked at her when she spoke after the moment's pause, and he never looked away after.

"If you are unable to trust nothing else," she whispered. "Trust _this_. Trust us."

 _Trust in love_ was what she meant to say.

And he did, all the while disbelieving how she still found him worthy of it. If she only knew of the terrible things he had done he'd be certain she would no longer look at him the same; yet, despite her not knowing the unknown Rey still loved him. And he loved her. So much to where he couldn't help but not keep his emotions guarded like he wanted to for her safety.

He needed her as much as she needed him.

Without further words added he kissed her; although at first, the kisses were short and hesitant. Every touch of her warmth against the icy cold of his lips likened to flashes of embers, hot sparks that burned and tingled. It was an act of sin to the Wraith while serving sweet nirvana to the Elf. What started off as innocent quickly blossomed into something more.

His hand remained on her after Rey removed her hands from his, aware of her heart quickening its pace beneath his touch as his hastened to do the same. She folded her arms around his shoulders and brought their bodies closer, ascending his hand toward the arc of her shoulder and neck, the other rose to mirror it. Her lips parted ever so slight at the seams, welcoming his tongue to mingle with hers.

The heat of her mouth was exhilarating, her flavor intoxicating. And, oh, how the shudder of her moan over his mouth made his body react in ways he'd never felt, as his senses ascended skyward. When they finally broke apart for air he was left feeling lightheaded. Their mouths parted but stayed close, eyes raising to view the other through hooded lashes.

"Im mel cin, Ben," Rey uttered, her voice airy and breathless.

With his head cocked he brought a thumb up to grace her cheek. "I love you."

"Then show me," she murmured, eyes imploring. "Make love to me."

Kylo winced at the request, emotions churning. "I think I've already hurt you enough."

She rolled her eyes. "You won't," she huffed. "No more holding back. If tonight should be our last, I want no regrets."

He stared at her with reluctance. Her words were dismal in meaning, but he understood. He would have asked her the same had he been aware of the events that followed within the days of their last evening together. Now, he was living proof of how much the times had changed since then. Every second spent with her was meant to count even though he deserved none of what she was offering. Try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to gather the strength to resist her.

He took a breath and nodded. Swallowing the lump in his throat he withdrew his hands from her, as Rey proceeded to do the same with hers. He started by removing his gloves, thinking she'll be repulsed when she saw how the Wraith had changed him in more ways than one. He revealed the elongated nails extending past the ends of his fingers, surprised to see there was no judgment in her eyes and was instead met with acceptance.

Worrying her bottom lip, her eyes fell to the bottom hem of her tunic. The warm glow from the fire exposed the rosey blush that flourished her cheeks. Had his skin retained its proper pigmentation of color he was certain his would have done the same as she slowly rid herself of the attire, rising onto her knees with a fluid motion and discarding it to the side.

Too mesmerized by her appearance he failed to notice she was expecting him to do the same. She was beautiful. She was perfect. And she was his. And it awed him how Rey was so willing to give him that piece of herself. For that, he had every intention to worship her like the queen he would make her be, as marriage to elves was also done through consummation.

They took their time shedding the remnants of clothes, allowing one another to comprehend what the other saw for the first time. It was awkward though the word was frankly an understatement. He had never felt more vulnerable as he did after baring himself nude for her, clothes lying scattered at their feet.

He allowed her to make the first move, wanting her to be satisfied with what she saw of the new body he'd been given, as the lack of clothes made his tone more vivid and bright. As much as he longed for it he dared to not touch her. She noticed his skin didn't retain the fire's golden hue like hers, while her fingers worked curiously and further over him. With every touch he set aside insecurity, his cock stiffened as her fingers drew closer.

When she boldly took him in hand, the heat of her palm around the velvety skin of his member sent his eyes rolling toward the back of his head, hindering his ability to see the smirk that beamed across her face. She pumped him slowly, triggering a hearty groan from a place low in his chest. She drove herself upon her tiptoes, her free hand gripping his shoulder and kissed him deeply, drinking every note that her actions granted him. She pulled away and Kylo found himself incapable of resisting her gentle command.

"Touch me."

As she murmured the words over his lips her hand continued to lure him over a threshold of madness. With a hand splayed at the small of her back he brought their bodies closer, his frigidity spurring every goosebump on her skin to life.

Her nipples perked as he grazed a thumb along the bottom swell of her breast, cataloging every sigh and smile earned into his memory. How she seemed to enjoy it more as he toyed the nub of her breast between his forefinger and thumb, and then carefully kneaded her with his palm. When he kissed her again, their moans were a mutual blend of the other.

He started to realize then, that he wasn't certain how much longer he would last. He could feel the heat deriving from her core, knowing she was ready for him as he was for her. He still found it hard to believe he could make her feel that way, and he wanted nothing more than to experience the remnants of it being inside her.

He guided her onto his lap as he took a seat amongst their clothes by the fire, its warmth compensating for his cold. When his hands held her steady at the waist, he could feel her muscles tremble. He looked at her with concern, hoping that it wasn't because of him.

"Just nervous," she confessed timidly, hands settled on his shoulders.

He nodded, relieved that he wasn't the cause of her fear. "We can wait."

Her head shook at that, moving her hands to cradle his jaw. "No, I want this. I promise."

His eyes fell to the fabric on her shoulder, again overcome with surprise that she still wanted this from him when it was clear he would've killed her days before. It was amazing, truly, how much her love affected him. He vowed to spend his days protecting her from those like himself and others considered worse.

For the first time since he became a Ringwraith, that proverbial song of the Ring ceased to not exist in his thoughts. Right now, it was simply him and Rey. His eyes returned to hers then at the thought.

"Take your time," he assured and began to shower kisses along her neck, pausing to speak in between. "The night belongs to us."

She nodded and swallowed, relying on the softness of his lips to ease away the anxiety. At the same time, she was left in wonder how one of the most feared individuals in Middle Earth could be so gentle, and how she could easily bring him, the Witch King, to his knees.

Adhering to the reassurance of his words she allowed herself to relish more in his tenderness, as he furnished special attention to the raw skin surrounding her wound. His kisses grew more heated, teasing the jut of her collarbone with the tip of his tongue as if he was able to heal her completely. He was no longer the cold-blooded killer as he was known to be, but rather the compassionate elf Ben Solo.

His hands lowered to her outer thighs, hissing when her hand came in contact with his swollen cock. The initial anticipation was torture, and he tried not to enact on primary instincts and buck his hips when she immersed the head of him inside her. His skin at their connection felt as if he had engulfed into flames yet the burn wasn't at all painful, but a more pleasant sort of heat.

Her fingers wound through the shorter tresses at the nape of his neck. His head rose for her forehead to press against his, hands moving to punishingly grasp her hips. Her whimpers were silenced by his moans, heeding to the tightness of her walls that spread to accommodate his size.

She paused when the extent of him was inside her, allowing the discomfort of fullness to surpass. He whispered appraisals to her in Elvish, telling her short tales of how beautiful she was and how she was his everything.

She gave her hips an experimental roll over his, a gasp eluded their lips. The feeling itself was instant gratification. It was beautiful. It was bliss. And not at all painful as what she thought it would be once the initial ache from his presence dissipated, evolving into that of amazing pleasure.

His hands guided her into a slow and steady cadence, his hips slow moving with shallow to deeper thrusts, both determined to bring the other to climax. He marveled over her every reaction, while her interior walls had begun to clamp around his cock her head reclined as her eyes rolled shut, the muscles in his stomach clenching.

"Rey," he uttered in stilted breaths, "open your eyes. Look at me."

She did as he had asked and he looked at her as if she were the only person alone with him in the universe. They came together as stars flashed before their eyes, followed by visions that led into a world where shadow and flames of death were no longer in sight.

There was peace among rich green canopies, a forest lit by lanterns. There was also love and family and a child. And more endless nights of love making. It was the future - _their_ future - and one that neither was certain would ever exist.


	5. Chapter 5

The white wizard retrieved his hand from the onyx globe, startled by the images of the Witch King's treasonous behavior. Kylo Ren, Snoke's trophy from the slaughter in the village, had somehow been manipulated to betray him.

And it was because of _him_ that Ben Solo hadn't been a casualty during the arranged ambush on the elves.

Given the bloodline of his heritage, Snoke had kept a watchful eye over Ben for years, believing that he could be turned and serve in the footsteps of the former Witch King. The elements of his potential were already there, as Ben often regressed to violence and anger rather than compassion. With the proper grooming and additional abilities, the young elf had the potential to become more powerful than Vader. And claim a legacy far more epic than his grandfather's.

Being strong in both body and mind, the elf hadn't been an easy target to obtain and resisted Lord Sidious' lure into darkness. However, all that it took was the enactment on empathy and tend to the forsaken lives in the village. Ben had finally taken the bait, but it also nearly claimed his life.

With the help of a powerful and dark enchantment, his fragile body was set in tune with Sidious' growing strength as a Wraith and was given the name Kylo Ren. Now a hybrid of Wraith and Elf, Ren was able to resist the mortal effects of common blades and other weapons. He was created to thrive off darkness, a living weapon and the fiercest of immortals. His memories were erased, forgetting those who he once loved in his previous life and instead obsessed over the Ring. He would further hold second-in-command to Snoke's legion of a menacing new breed of orc known as Uruk-Hai, which had grown to reach numbers in the tens of thousands.

So how did the son of darkness fall under the control of a lowly Silvan elf? And what possessed the Witch King to give himself over to her in such a sacred way? She was nothing. A nobody. But she would clearly serve a purpose in the reminder of who Kylo Ren belonged to, and bring awareness to the fact that the Wraith wasn't as truly immortal as he'd always believed.

It was without to Ren's knowing that the wizard had also forged the only sword of its kind, its blade capable of maiming the Nazgul's immortality to Man should there ever be a need for its use. It would leave Ren mortally vulnerable while forcing him to choose between the life of the she-elf or keep to Sidious' cause.

Either way, one life would be taken and if not then both.

The sound of heavy footsteps moved his hardened gaze from the platform, supporting the black and spherical-shaped looking glass, and was met with the eyes of which belonged to General Hux when the fearsome pale orc entered the room.

The orc stopped at the doorway and stood with his shoulders squared, his chin elevated and proud of the news that he carried. His blue eyes were rigid and piercing, his smile sinister and uncovered its rows of sharp fangs. His broad shoulders and chest were concealed beneath thick-plated armor. The chest piece was marked by a white off-center handprint of the wizard who retained the orc's loyalties, the look of a soldier who was prepared for war.

"The weapons are finished and ready, my Lord," Hux growled the affirmation.

"Excellent work, General," Snoke praised, though his beard kept the full extent of pleasure on his lips hidden behind cascades of white hair.

With his sorcerer's staff in hand, Snoke slowly advanced past the orc in silence, showing the way to the Tower of Starkiller's lone terrace that overlooked the stronghold's charred landscape. Hux trailed not far behind. While the pair drew closer towards their destination, the roars and chants from thousands of orcs outside the tower's obsidian walls grew louder, anxiously awaiting orders.

"And you are certain the explosives will guarantee our breach of the mountain's fortress?" The orc scoffed, referring to their impending attack on Crait.

 _Ah yes, Crait,_ Snoke mused to himself.

The ancient fortress was the largest to have been built within the outskirts of Savareen, constructed into the side of a mountain whose interior halls dove deep into the earth and wound through an abundance of caves. Unfortunately, Savareen was only one of two kingdoms left governed by the few Free Men who resided in Middle Earth. The other was the kingless, great city of Coruscant.

No thanks to Savareen's ruler, King Jarrus, for his refusal to side with Sidious and Snoke, Crait was dubbed the first target in the war between good and evil, unaware that spies had informed Snoke of Jarrus leading his people there for refuge. Its massive stone wall had always been known to be impenetrable by outsiders, having withstood a great many battles throughout its history. But little did the king know that informants had also divulged a weakness in the fortress' design to their enemy: a small sewer channel located at its base.

"Abide by my orders, General," Snoke beamed cruelly with conviction, "and the fortress will fall. Jarrus' allies have dwindled over the years. You have the numbers, a victory is imminent."

Hux sneered at the thought and lowered his chin, nodding. "Yes, my Lord. I can assure you that no man will see the rise of dawn."

Oh, how it pleased him to hear that.

"I do not doubt your success, General," Snoke added assertively. "With that being said, there is a specific task that I would like to place in the hands of your captain."

The orc curiously raised his brows while the wizard encouraged them to halt, ignoring the thunderous sound of Uruk-Hai pounding their fists on armor from the open doorway further down the narrow corridor, expressing their impatience.

"And what is this _task_ that I will be informing her of?" Hux inquired quizzically.

Snoke aligned his gaze with the orc's. "She is to ride to Mustafar and come to me with Kylo Ren; although, getting him to come so willingly is the challenge that I wish for her to be made aware of. He is strong and powerful. And for that, I have precisely what she needs to make him cooperate."

Hux curled his lips, again nodding briefly. "As you wish, my Lord. I shall inform her after the debriefing."

"Good." The wizard narrowed his eyes before he spoke next. "There will be a female with him also," he continued serenely. "An Elf. I want her alive - and _unspoiled_."

* * *

After the assembly with Luke in Chandrila, a total of nine members stood in the company of the One Ring. Aside from the ring bearer himself, Poe, Bee-Bee, and Finn and the three additional hobbits had volunteered to escort Artoo on the long perilous journey. Ezra Bridger had also quickly offered his allegiance, along with the wizard Amilyn Holdo. However, even with the assistance of a powerful sorcerer, the excursion to Dathomir hadn't been any easier than if the fellowship had gone without her.

Rather than taking a route that would bring them dangerously close to Starkiller, the fellowship took to the snowy mountain trails of Jakku, leading them to a door that was the entrance to the ancient dwarven mines of Kessel. Unfortunately, the mine's dark and shadowy depths also housed a plethora of enemies.

After roaming through its maze of tunnels a large colony of goblins surrounded the fellowship, a cave troll held in their service as well. Amidst the ruckus of their battle, they unwittingly roused a fiery demon from within its plunging shafts, directly to the Underworld. Knowing that the foe was far beyond the fellowship's ability to defeat, Holdo sacrificed herself to the creature for the safety of those who were meant to continue without her.

After briefly mourning the loss of their friend, Finn suggested that they travel to the realm of Alderaan. It was known by many that no evil should ever be allowed to enter or flourish inside the Elven kingdom, its borders heavily secured by Leia's unsullied Ring of Power.

They ascended one of many staircases that coiled around the trunks of trees, ending midway near the forest's golden canopies, where Leia Skywalker-Solo and Padme Amidala obliged the fellowship with their presence. Both elves appeared as equally beautiful as they were kind.

It wasn't until the mentioning of Holdo's demise when the faint glimmer of happiness in their eyes faded to sorrow, yet another loss when they had clearly suffered many. Leia then granted the group shelter and food for the evening, assuring even though the Ring was present they would be safe. Before they left the next morning she gave each of the fellowship a small gift that withheld significance, all items different and guaranteed to serve them well throughout the remainder of the journey.

The adventure continued forward as they proceeded to travel further down the riverfront toward the falls, relieved to have not encountered the black riders though what they didn't know was the Nazgul were being assisted by a large clan of Uruk-Hai. It was at a small wooded area off-stream when the band of orcs finally caught up with them.

Poe, Finn, Bee-Bee, and Ezra strived to hold off what they could of the orcs while Chirpa and Wicket created a diversion. Feigning possession of the Ring the two hobbits lured the attention of the orcs from Artoo, resulting in their capture. Artoo and Threepio were then encouraged to escape and continue onward alone. However, Finn and all who were left hadn't discovered Chirpa and Wicket's abduction until it was too late.

Now that the Fellowship of the Ring was broken, their new mission was to find and save Chirpa and Wicket, while also empowering their friendship along the way. Though Poe wasn't ready to admit to having grown particularly fond of the dwarf just yet. With his perception keen on tracking the orcs, his nagging worry for Rey had surprisingly lessened.

With the four of them working together they finally came upon the orcs outside the kingdom of Savareen. At least, their corpses that is. They supposed that a fight had broken out amongst the horde, appearing to have saved them from needing to fight the Uruk-Hai as they had all perished to one another's blade. Not only did they discover that the hobbits had escaped and fled into the nearby Forest of Kashyyk, but they also reunited with a resurrected Amilyn Holdo, clothed in robes that were no longer grey but white, astride a horse whose coat was as fair as snow.

Shortly after the reunion, they received word that the King of Savareen, Kanaan Jarrus, was in dire need for aid. After reports from scouts stated that an army of orcs was approaching, the king deemed it best for his people to travel to the great fortress of Crait, shunning the notion to call for the help of nearby kingdoms who he believed would never come.

Once they arrived at Crait the reality of circumstances finally settled into his thoughts, having neglected to believe that 10,000 orcs would be at their doorstep by the evening's descent when his army of men was roughly over 1,000. His niece, Sabine, was asked to lead the women and youngest of children into the caves, while every able-bodied man prepared for the looming battle.

Poe narrowed his eyes at Jarrus when the king left to acquire his own armor. He looked to Finn and Haldo at his left, both seeming as disgruntled over the king's stubbornness.

"He's a fool to believe this battle can be won on our own," Poe hissed. "Aside from what soldiers he does have, the closest thing to a weapon that half of these people have probably seen is a pitchfork. They're farmers, _not_ soldiers."

"But they have hope," Finn sighed, his voice solemn. "That is something that no measure of darkness could ever take away."

"There are children amongst those so-called soldiers, Finn," Poe chided. "Are you sincerely okay with telling them that? Giving them hope when there is none? They're terrified! You can see it in their eyes if you hadn't noticed."

Finn shook his head. "There is always hope."

Poe grit his teeth. "Listen to yourself! _All_ of these people are going to die."

"Then I shall die as one of them!"

The elf winced at the outburst and took a step back from Finn, unable to find words that were fit to counter. That sort of tension hadn't been between them since their encounter in Chandrila. Now, Poe had come to regard Finn more as a brother rather than an acquaintance who he had volunteered to journey with across Middle Earth.

Holdo cleared her throat softly, taking the moment as her queue to speak.

"There are still those who reside in Middle Earth that will come to our aid," she assured with certainty. "If I ride out now I should return before sunrise."

Poe blinked. "Wait - so, you're leaving?"

Holdo smiled graciously, concerning the apprehension on both of the men's faces. "You have my word. And we need the help," she affirmed. "Just look toward the East at dawn for my coming."

Poe snorted and shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "As if we weren't doomed from the start. Now we have the wizard abandoning us."

She rolled her eyes and shuffled closer toward him. She placed a comforting hand on the elf's shoulder, eyes knowing and laden with trust. "Hope is like the sun. If you can only see it during the day, then you'll never make it through the night."

Finn nodded at that, arms folded over his chest. "She's right you know," he said with a quick glance at Poe. "We _have_ to give these people some sort of hope if we're to make it through this. Even if that spark is small."

Poe pressed his lips and nodded, exhaling through his nose. "Alright, you're both right and I'm sorry. Forgive me."

Finn shook his head, and what appeared to be a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Don't be. Your reason for worry is valid."

Bee-Bee waddled in at that moment, the jingling sound of his chain armor gained everyone's attention. He dropped the lower half of what was being held of the tunic in his arms with a grunt and looked to them with discomfort. They expected him to comment with something that was relevant to its length, which puddled into a heap at his feet but instead voiced a different complaint.

"It's a little tight in the chest," the dwarf grumbled, seeming confused when those who were staring at him dumbfounded, started to laugh.

* * *

Lightning flashed in the sky overhead, streaking over the evening's dark canvas like brilliant strands of webs. Its luminosity revealed the thousands who carried torches and spears, and flags bearing the image of a white hand, to the soldiers who lined the pathways above the walls of Crait. Thunder rolled then and was accompanied with heavy downpouring rain.

Poe stood alongside Finn and Bee-Bee, his bow held at an angle over his chest, hand clasped over the other. His eyes were set on the orcs that stood at the base of the fortress, awaiting the moment of which would begin the initial fight for Middle Earth.

Silence rendered heavily over the ranks of men; although, the sound of weapons being driven into the ground repeatedly by orcs compensated for their lack of words. They had known that Snoke's army would be large in numbers, but seeing the magnitude of its size in person was terrifying. The enemy torches appeared to be endless, spanning far and beyond the horizon.

"What's going on out there?" Bee-Bee mumbled. "I can't see anything!"

Poe smirked and lowered his chin, seeing the dwarf stagger on the toes of his boots to get a glimpse of the monstrosity that was blocked by the stone wall in front of him. The elf shook his head and sighed. His eyes returned to their previous view before speaking.

"Shall I describe it to you?" Poe offered, raising a brow. "Or would you like me to find you a box?"

With his hands gripping the edge of the wall, the dwarf paused and peered up at Poe. His silence was quickly broken by a cackle, regarding the elf's choice of words. "That's good, very good. Not bad for such an uptight elf."

Finn snorted at the banter, eyes fixed ahead. "It's good to hear you two becoming such good friends."

"Might as well make good use of what little time we have left," Poe scoffed, feigning to have not noticed Finn's scorn.

"Archers!" Kannan cried out from the partition at the rear to them. "Take your aim!"

Adhering to the king's command Poe and neighboring archers swiftly had their arrows drawn and raised, aiming at the first orc that their eyes settled on. Finn drew his sword from its sheath, prepared to face what chaos followed.

Poe closed his eyes and took a breath, aligning the projectile to strike the chosen Uruk-Hai's armor at its weakest point, of which he discovered after having endured a fair share of encounters with Uruk-Hai orcs.

"Aim for the neck and beneath the arms," Poe suggested to the archers nearby. "Their armor is weaker there."

"And show them no mercy," Finn added, tightening the girth upon his sword. "For they will show you none in return."

A few _aiys_ sounded off from those that heard the comments. The minutes that followed in light of Jarrus' command to release the arrows were blurred by tunnel vision.

The arrows soared into the night, piercing their marks on every target. No sooner than the projectiles were issued more were quickly drawn in their place, and the orcs continued to fall with each shot delivered by man and elf. However, it wasn't long before those who stood upon Crait were met by the orcs' returned assault. For every arrow released a man and orc was struck, a vicious cycle that resulted in more lives lost.

 _Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen._ Poe tallied the kills in his head, satisfied as the casualties amongst evil continued to rise.

"I hope that you intend to save some for me!" Bee-Bee scolded Poe, growing bored and impatient from waiting.

At that moment the inevitable arrived for those anticipating hand-to-hand combat. Massive siege ladders were brought forth by the Uruks, of which were raised and propped against the stone barrier. The orcs hastened to ascend, each wielding a different form of crudely-crafted weaponry.

"Get ready!" Poe warned, stalling to release the drawn arrow before the first orc appeared. "Now's your chance to play catch up."

"Aiy, let them come," the dwarf growled, flexing his grip on the axe's handle.

Poe fired the arrow at the first orc head that emerged from over the wall. It struck the Uruk between the eye holes of its helmet, killing the creature immediately. Its grip on the ladder loosened and tumbled back into the swarm of bodies at the base of the stairway.

Bee-Bee claimed the next Uruk that revealed itself shortly after. Raising the axe over his head, the dwarf drove its blade deep into the Uruk's armored chest plate before the adversary had a chance to attack, causing a sickening crunch upon contact. He jerked the weapon free, leaving the orc to fall.

The dwarf quickly moved onto the next that clambered over the ledge, one that Poe had missed as the foes climbed faster than the archers could attack. It wasn't long before those of Savareen were overwhelmed by the sudden surge of orcs, leading to more men perishing by the malevolence of evil.

At one point in the action, a Uruk-Hai attempted to attack Poe from behind but was promptly stopped by Bee-Bee after the dwarf's timely notice. The elf turned and looked over his shoulder, noticing the dwarf was wrenching the blade free of his attacker's armor and gave Bee-Bee an appreciative smile.

"How many does that make for you now?" Poe asked, retrieving another arrow from his quiver.

The dwarf thought briefly. "Twenty-four."

"Not bad," Poe shrugged. "Thirty-nine."

Bee-Bee's mouth dropped. "Did I say 24? I actually meant 34!"

Poe chuckled, however, the moment of fun was sadly short-lived. The elf's eyes flickered over every face of those around him, searching for the one he knew to be calling his name. He discovered that Finn had made his way further back towards the keep, and was motioning wildly towards the furthest sector of the fortress.

"Poe! The carrier! Bring the torch carrier down!"

Poe searched frantically for the bearer and found the Uruk sprinting through a trench that was stationed at the base furthest to him, torch blazing bright and raised high in the air. The elf unleashed multiple arrows at the carrier, but none of which pierced its chest was able to hinder the orc from finishing its task. The orc disappeared into the entrance of the duct, followed by a massive eruption of stone.

Liberal chunks of debris were thrown in every direction, crushing those who were unfortunate enough to have been within range of its wake, while the initial concussion of the explosion flung bodies of those who remained. After centuries of adhering to its fame, the impenetrable wall of Crait had finally been breached.

* * *

While the war had just begun at Crait another struggle raged on at Mustafar; however, this was one that neither swords or catapults or the strongest of explosives could ever wish to conquer. While making love to Rey was the greatest decision that Kylo had made, it also magnified the division of his heart. When he should have been living with his head amongst the clouds the Wraith was persistent in its yearning for the Ring.

Its call to him had begun to occur more frequent than in the past as if the object was physically capable of sensing his hurt. Every hour that its bidding went disregarded he could feel the compression on that side of his heart tighten, pleading that he not continue prolonging his absence. However, despite lacking what the Wraith desired, Kylo couldn't bring himself to leave her.

The nights that followed the consummation of their love were spent by the fire, lying on nothing more than discarded clothes with a thin sheet covering their waists. With every moment spent with her Kylo found that she no longer seemed to mind his difference in body temperature, though the inferno inside the hearth had more than made up for it.

Sleep never came to him as it did for Rey, so he simply watched her instead. He always started with her face, studying the dozens of tiny particles that powdered her nose and flourished greater over her cheeks. Whenever her eyelashes would flutter he wondered if she was dreaming of him, how he looked like as an Elf and not the monster he'd become. The wound on her shoulder had started healing faster, leaving a blemish that was lighter than the darker hue of her skin.

But just as he expected his peace never lasted for long, his remembrance of the Ring always washed away that single ounce of tranquility. His ears started buzzing and rose to a high-pitched tune in his head. The crackling of logs in the fireplace was no longer the room's leading source of melody, neither were Rey's innocent snores.

His eyelids grew heavy, laden with obsession, a craving that hadn't been quenched. From the ashes of his soul, darkness rose and swallowed what little light had made its way to the surface, which normally ended as he was being dragged further into its depths.

But this time was different, as the darkness had always been infinite he instead saw flames. There was death scattered across the world, blue skies were hidden behind dark clouds

Villages were burned, lives had either perished or were enslaved by chains. The images remained vague and slow-moving but ended with the lifeless body of Rey, lying in a field that was carpeted by those who belonged to men and many more who were women and children, with a magnificent city of white in the background that was left in shambles.

"Ben."

His eyes flung open, surprised to see Rey had already changed into the new attire that a servant brought for her earlier, a charcoal feminine-style tunic with leggings beneath her original armor, and was now standing before him. The last he remembered before the Ring had seized control over his consciousness, was the awe he felt when she allowed him to watch her dress in front of the fireplace.

Her brows were furrowed with concern, indicating that he must've slipped away longer than usual, with a hand placed upon his black leather coat.

Having decided to set aside the robes Kylo's appearance as a Wraith was now visible for all to see. The high-rising collar of the sleeveless jacket was embossed with studs, it's front secured by buckles and ended lower in the back than in front. Armored gauntlets in onyx stemmed from his wrists to his elbows while the remainder of skin was hidden by pleated fabric, hands wearing gloves. And black pants tucked into knee-high boots.

He could only imagine the sort of gossip that would spread if anyone other than Rey ever saw him.

"I'm sorry," he grimaced, unable to disguise the shame on his face.

She shook her head, slightly cocked to the side. "Don't be. I know that this can't be easy for you."

Being _not easy_ was certainly an oversimplification of the truth, but he kept that to himself along with the visions he was shown. The fact that she was still with him, and still trying to gain some sort of understanding for what he was going through, was more than anything he could've asked for. He never expected her to fully understand, but it was enough to give him hope that a life together was still possible while enduring such torment.

He recalled what his father had told him, how visions were always in motion and could be changed. He needed to hold onto the life that he and Rey had seen. He _had_ to believe that love could still rise above evil. But none of that could ever happen so long as they continued staying in Mustafar. Leaving would be one step closer towards breaking the restraints that bound him to his grandfather's legacy. It was highly dangerous indeed, but it was a decision not made by Sidious or Snoke or the Ring.

He grabbed her hand on his chest and brought it to his lips, kissing the base of her palm. "I want to leave - with you."

Shock overcame her look of concern at first. "And go where?"

His eyes lowered to the leaf brooch that was clasped at the neck of her tunic, knowing he could never return to where he wanted to go most. His connection to Sidious rendered him to be forever banished from Alderaan.

"I don't know," he confessed, eyes meeting hers again. "Somewhere, anywhere that's far away from here."

It was a good idea, in theory. The faster they could get away from Dathomir and Mustafar, the longer he believed it would take for anyone to find them. Rey said nothing at that but simply nodded within the place of words. His grasp constricted around her hand and she placed the other on his shoulder, rising on her toes she kissed him.

"Anywhere is fine," she whispered.

He kissed her again, deeper this time. His free hand spanned the width of her lower back, bringing her closer to him and broke the kiss long enough to speak. "Forever for us starts now. But they'll never stop hunting us. I want you to know that. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you."

"No," she frowned. "I waited too long to find you. I will let nothing separate us again. And speaking of," she smiled, "there's something that I want you to have back."

He eyed her skeptically, not knowing what she meant at first until she revealed the bow and quiver that was returned to her earlier, lying on her bed amongst the other weapons she'd carried. How he hadn't noticed it at first eluded him, though many years had passed since he last saw it. It could've been because the elegant design that embellished a single side of the leather was hidden from view: a golden bird whose long tail feathers hung majestically toward the base. His bow was still the beautiful shade of cherrywood but weathered from excessive use at the grip, ornamented by the same golden coils that lined the top of the quiver.

"They were found when your father was brought home with the rest," Rey explained gently, her eyes glossing over at the memory. "Leia gave it to me, thinking that you were dead. But since you were never found I kept it because having it gave me hope that you were still alive. And that one day I would be able to give it back to you."

Kylo hesitated before he finally took it in his grasp. He skimmed his thumb over its coils, reacquainting himself with the elegant weapon that was with him when his father died, the day when his life irrevocably changed for the worse. While Rey assisted him with the straps of the holster he envisioned returning the favor to those responsible for taking everything from him.

 _Soon_ , he promised. _Soon that revenge would come._

His eyes rose to the remainder of small weapons on the bed, noticing that the blades of her daggers were glowing a soft shade of blue. Quickly his elvish instincts reverted back to the days in which were spent helping his father clear the surrounding lands of orc groups, recalling how their swords elicited a similar shade whenever their kind drew near. Rey caught the drift of his attention and ceased from further movement when she turned toward the bed.

"Ben," she breathed with a warning in her tone.

"Get your things," he demanded sharply. "We're leaving now."

She quickly did as he had ordered and grabbed the pair of daggers, hilts firmly secured in her hands with a strong grasp. Having anticipated enough time to make a quick getaway their initial bit of optimism vanished when the group of Uruk-Hai orcs promptly greeted them outside the door.

Having an arrow already drawn and ready Kylo unleashed the first into the head of the first orc that stood at the door. It wavered then fell back into the few who were directly behind. Using it to his advantage Kylo kicked the fallen orc in its chest, driving those at the rear further into the hall to make room for his and Rey's escape.

A few Uruk-Hai immediately went to grab Rey when she appeared, but she was swift in her strides and ducked from their reach. Using her toes to pivot she came up behind one, stabbing the blade of her dagger into the side of its neck and allowed Kylo to take the other. She pulled the dagger free, blood oozing from its mortal wound, and hurled the growing limp body to the side.

With a corridor free from orcs Kylo motioned for Rey to follow him down the fortress' dimly-lit interior, leading her toward the shorter hall where the grand stairwell was located. Hopeful that a successful escape was near, he rounded the corner and collided into the chest of the largest orc in the horde. Taller than Kylo by several inches the orc was paler than most in its skin color, and very little blonde hair on its head. It glared at him with a single blue eye, the other clouded and blind on a face that was heavily scarred.

"Master Ren," she snarled with a voice that sounded too proper for an orc, "such a pleasure to finally meet the Witch King."

Before Kylo could react the orc seized him by the throat and slammed him to the wall with a violent thrust. The motion left him breathless at first but showed no signs of being hurt. Gritting his teeth he managed to land a blow to her face with a fist free of the bow. The orc grunted and loosened her grasp, allowing him to free himself when he jabbed her abdomen with his knee.

"Rey!" He bellowed, noticing for the first time that she wasn't with him.

"Ben!" Rey cried out from down the hall. The panic heard in her voice alarmed him, followed by the clanging of armor.

Before Kylo could turn to find her the large orc was on him again, wielding a sword that was similar to the Nazgul's in its hand. He dodged to the side when she made the first swing, exchanging his bow for the sword at his waist. Having temporarily cast aside the bow he parried the orc's powerful strikes.

With a forceful shove of his weapon against hers, he was able to put enough distance between himself and the orc, briefly taking offense in the skirmish. Kylo was quick in his movements though not fast enough as the orc managed to graze his side with the edge of the sword, immediately giving her the upper hand as Kylo was momentarily stunned by the pain. The orc drew her arm around his neck and forced him to his knees.

"Your she-elf looks utterly divine if I may so say myself," the orc sneered into his ear. "I would imagine she tastes just as well as she looks."

Kylo bared his teeth, gasping at the shortness of breath as the orc flexed the muscles of her arm and tightened her grasp.

"If you so much as lay a hand on her I promise you will suffer before I kill you," he seethed, hands failing to pry away her hold.

The orc chuckled at that. "Oh, I have orders to leave her - what was the term?" The orc briefly paused. "Oh yes, _unspoiled_ was the word. Such a shame really. She would make a fine meal."

Rage boiled inside of him and he struggled to free himself from the orc. But the more his body writhed, the stronger her hold became. Just as his vision started to blur he began to see red. Then, everything slowly faded to black.


	6. Chapter 6

The hobbits came to a stop in the forest, gripping their wobbly knees for support. They were weak and exhausted and desperately needed rest. And their lungs were fishing for an element they no longer possessed. The burning inside their chests suggested they had swallowed blistering charcoals.

Aside from the explicit aches and pains, their mouths were severely dehydrated and cracked. They couldn't remember when they last ate, neither could they recall having anything to drink, save for the oily liquid in a canteen that a Uruk-hai tried forcing down their throats. It'd tasted like tar, and they vomited the fluid back up. Their stomachs churned ever since.

Nevertheless, the pain reminded them of the adversities they had been subjected to after parting with the fellowship. Until now, their focus was primarily set on distancing themselves from the orcs to notice the effects of withdrawal.

"Are they following us?" Chirpa croaked to his friend, having such shortness of breath the words were all he could spare.

Taking a gulp of air Wicket peered over his shoulder. His eyes browsed over every outline in the darkness, pausing at those he was leerier of then moved to the patches of fog. Aside from creaking branches and ghostly moans of trees, their wheezing was all that he heard. There was no clanging of heavy armor or weapons. No unruly grunts or whoops or growls.

 _Thank the maker, no sign of orcs._

"No," Wicket huffed, turning to Chirpa he shook his head. "Perhaps they didn't see us?"

The other hobbit let out a sigh of relief.

"Thank gods," Chirpa groaned, relaxing his shoulders. "I don't think I have any endurance left in me."

"Same," Wicket muttered, straightening his back. He gave the wooded trail behind him another glance, massaging his wrists where a rope had held them bound. "I would probably surrender and let them eat me this time."

Chirpa snorted, offering a nod to show that he agreed.

Prior to their escape, one of the orcs had suggested that the hobbits be the main course for dinner. Much to their surprise, Snoke had given the orcs strict orders: retrieve the ringbearer alive. Suddenly becoming an entree for orcs seemed like a more humane way to die than what Snoke might have done had he learned that neither was the actual ringbearer. That they were a ruse while the true bearer of the Ring escaped.

Obscene insults were hurled. Fists were flung. And then the riot erupted among the horde, swords and other weapons drawn. With the orcs occupied the hobbits freed themselves of the bindings on their wrists, using the blade of a fallen orc to sever the rope. They'd fled into the woods and ran, without a clue as to where they would go thereafter.

But where was _there_ , exactly?

"Where are we anyway?" Chirpa asked, his weary eyes surveying their surroundings.

Silent, Wicket's eyes scaled the magnificent altitudes of branches and twigs. The higher he was made to climb, the greater the strain became on his neck, halting when darkness was left in exchange for canopies. Not a sliver of sky was visible, besides a few traces of moonlight penetrating the thick awning of leaves.

"I don't know," Wicket frowned. "But we're gonna have a hard time finding a way out of here if we don't have the moon or stars for direction."

"Great. I suppose when dawn arrives the sun will be useless as well," Chirpa mused with a scowl.

 _This_ was essentially why hobbits seldom ever went on adventures. They fancied the comfort of their homes and the simplicity of not traveling beyond the borders of Tatooine. Carrying a fairytale book in hand, a visit to their own backyard was the closest to an excursion that some would ever come to have in a lifetime.

Then there was Wicket and Chirpa, Tatooine's finest pair of black sheep. The duo who perpetually craved excitement. It was but one of many reasons why they had been so eager to escort Artoo on his mission. But _this_ place - this was something else, in the creepiest sort of way. It was unlike any forest they had traveled through across Middle Earth.

The forest was nearly lifeless. Windless and humid. Trees as tall as watchtowers brandished trunks the sizes of small houses. Large roots akin to bridges bowed above the soil. Moss dangled aloft from limbs, spidering outward like tentacles on colossal sea monsters. If they had squinted at the underbrush they would have seen symptoms of apparent decay and rot, citing a sickness that was never revoked.

The atmosphere was substantially flooded with grief and sorrow, drowning whoever entered the forest in emotions that weren't theirs. If it were at all plausible, what little life had prevailed there seemed capable of reflecting its inner turmoil. If trees held the ability to talk, there was no doubt that much could be said of its history.

"This place gives me the creeps." Chirpa shuddered, arousing the tiny hairs on the back of his neck. "Maybe we should have stayed and taken our chances with the orcs."

Wicket puffed his cheeks at the notion. "Let's not be too hasty," he chided. "We _could_ just try climbing one of these and get some sleep. Then we can make our way higher up and see what else is out there in the morning. Maybe see if there's anything edible to eat around here, too."

Although _maybe_ was still considerably farfetched. Finding any sort of food there was as likely as witnessing the underworld's Summa-verminoth prancing in a flowery pasture. If only they hadn't eaten their Lembas that Leia had given them in one sitting. Chirpa grumbled just as much. Wicket shrugged, tugging his grumpy companion toward the nearest tree.

Rather than bearing a solid trunk this particular tree maintained a woven appearance, surrounded by busted limbs and mangy shrubs at its base. Deep grooves in its smooth surface provided convenient footholds, while nodules among random blemishes of moss provided easy purchase for their fingers. Up, up they climbed until they reached the highest limb, where Wicket discovered its damaged peak was robbed of a proper canopy. _Probably lost in a heavy storm_ , he supposed.

Before Wicket had been able to haul himself onto the branch his peripheral caught a swift glimmer of movement, just a smidge higher above a bundle of withered ferns. It happened so sudden like a shade of a window was drawn in its bark, exposing a -.

"Hey!" Chirpa cried below. "Are you gonna keep us hanging around here all night or what? Why did you stop?"

Stunned and frozen in place, Wicket gazed wide-eyed at what unexpectedly stared back. His mouth opened but was utterly incapable of enunciating words. The eye blinked. When the hobbit managed to regain use of his voice, he screamed.

"Wicket!" Chirpa exclaimed in panic. "Talk to me! What's going on? What's up there?"

A low rumble reverberated inside the tree and the world abruptly began to shake. Uncertain as of what to expect, the hobbits loosened their grips and fell, piercing the air with terrified screams. They landed abruptly with a hard _thud_ on their backs. Taking a moment to catch their breath they palmed the roughness of the terrain beneath, realizing it wasn't soil but actually enormous hands.

The creature brought them to eye level, judging them as the hobbits cautiously rose from their backs. Its eyes were a dusky chestnut, eliciting centuries of existence. They saw that the same bundle of dead ferns had really been a beard, concealing its mouth beneath a pointed nose. When the creature finally spoke it uttered its words slowly, gruffly.

"Little _orcs_ ," it growled, emphasizing its disgust toward the latter term.

The hobbits shared knowing glances, then regarded the tree in perfect unison. They repeated the action several times before Chirpa gathered what little courage he retained in order to speak.

"The tree!" Chirpa squeaked, waving a pointer at the astonishing creature. "Wicket, it can talk! The tree is talking to us!"

The creature narrowed its eyes. "Tree?" It grunted, reining pride in its timbre. "I am no _tree_. As a matter of fact, I am an _ent_."

"An ent?" Wicket repeated skeptically. His eyes proceeded to widen with renewed wonder upon recognizing the title. "Chirpa, it's a tree-herder! A shepherd of the forest!"

Chirpa scoffed. "You mean you've heard of these things?"

"Aye, and this thing can understand you, little orc. So watch it," the ent accused.

"Oh, we're not orcs!" Wicket corrected happily. "We're hobbits!"

The ent raised a scaly brow, distorting the bark on its face. "Hobbits?" It hummed. "Never heard of them before."

"Yes! I'm Wicket," he nodded to the other hobbit across the way. "And this is my friend Chirpa. We're from Tatooine."

The ent pondered briefly, measuring the truth to their words.

"Chewbacca," it obliged. "Some call me Chewbacca."

"Are there many like you, Chewbacca?" Wicket asked.

Chewbacca's expression fell somber. Groaning, he lowered the hobbits to the ground. "Aye, once there were many." He stood to his full height. "Before the orcs. Before the great battle of men and elves. Now there are but few in numbers of us left."

Chirpa winced, casting Wicket a sidelong glance that lingered. "What happened?"

Chewbacca flexed his hands, speaking at a low volume. "They came with fire. Bearing torches and axes. Gnawing, hacking, and burning they destroyed everything. Usurpers, they are. Tyrants!"

"I'm sorry to hear that, Chewbacca," Wicket murmured, folding his arms. "We haven't lost as many as you, but we do understand. Someone who was dear to us was lost over our journey here."

"Aye," Chewbacca grumbled. "Now what brings two little hobbits such as yourselves so far from this - uh, Tatooine?"

The hobbits looked to one another gain. "We were helping a friend of ours venture to Dathomir," Wicket explained.

"Dathomir?" Chewbacca gasped. "Dathomir. One does not simply walk into Sidious' empire. It is riddled with fire, ash, and dust. Its black gates are guarded by more than just orcs," he sneered, tightening the girth of his fists. "Its evil does not sleep. The eye is always watching, all-knowing. Not with ten thousand men you could ever survive there. It is folly if one dares to try."

Chirpa flattened his lips. "Our friend is carrying the _Ring_ ," he hissed. "Folly or not, he needs our help."

"Ooooh." Chewbacca's eyes widened and lowered himself to a crouch, carefully so to not crush them. "The Ring of Power?" He asked with piqued curiosity. "It is found?"

"Yes," Chirpa replied sternly. "He means to destroy it. And we are running out of time. I don't know how but there must be some way for us to help."

Concern was evident on the ent's weathered features. Without further words of assurance, he extended to full height and closed his eyes, releasing a powerful howl that was easily spread throughout the entire region. They waited for him to say more but silence was all the ent offered. He simply watched the trees and waited, as if expecting an immediate response by whom he had called.

Baffled by his reaction the hobbits crumpled their noses, rebukes ready but failed when they caught a drift of what Chewbacca had been listening for. Thunder caused by the march of unseen sources rumbled in the distance. The hobbits held their breath, anticipating the overall worst scenario.

The minutes had felt like hours when the herd of ents finally emerged, each appearance unique. A few were no bigger than young maples, slender and scarce of structural greens, while others were tall with lush canopies. Uttering cordial words in Entish, Chewbacca welcomed the newcomers who gathered, then turned to the hobbits.

"We ents hate orcs. We hate Snoke and Sidious," he snarled. "We will help. What do you need?"

* * *

 _The sweet smell of Laurinquë blooms hung fresh in Alderaan's mid-afternoon summer air. The golden blossoms' faint aroma carried through the open terrace, inside the chamber where Ben had fallen asleep on an elegant settee._

 _His eyelids fluttered when a hand touched his cheek, mapping a thumb over its rise to his chin. A smile twisted his mouth when she teased the shallow cleft under his bottom lip, saying nothing at first beyond memorizing his face._

" _Ben," she purred, supported by her forearm on his chest as she leaned into him, pressing her lips chastely to his. "Wake up, my love."_

 _Blindly, he lifted a hand to her face, combing loose hairs aside and drew her close for a lazy kiss. Intending to keep her there he cradled her face between both hands, deepening their tender kiss. He opened his eyes after they parted, regarding her affectionate smile through his sleep-driven haze._

 _Her permed hair was drawn at the sides by a half bun, shorter strays fell to her rosey cheeks, the rest gracefully down her back. Every time he looked at her, she was more beautiful than when he last saw her. And every time she never ceased to steal his breath away. Letting a hand fall to her bare shoulder, untouched by the periwinkle silk of her gown, he grazed the back of his other over her cheek._

" _Is this a dream?" He grimaced._

 _It didn't feel like a dream. As a matter of fact, it felt real. The exemption was his skin was no longer its former lucent glow, but it's normal creamy pigment. Not a wraith but an elf. Complete and whole. And utterly in love with the woman gaping back at him._

 _Her eyes flickered between his eyes and lips, fingers toying with the mocha fabric of his tunic. "If it is, then it is a good dream," she smirked._

 _His brows furrowed, watching as a few wisps were lightly swept over her features by a gentle gust of wind. He sucked in a deep breath and swallowed. "I don't want it to be. How long have I been asleep?"_

 _She leaned in and kissed him again, her hand splayed on his cheek. "Long enough. Which is why you must get up. It is time."_

 _Apprehensive he took a breath and nodded. Rey offered him a grin that carried to her eyes. Weaving their fingers together she stood, encouraging him to follow._

Kylo woke with a start. The chamber wasn't the same as it had been in the dream. No, unfortunately, he was somewhere he considered far worse than the Underworld itself, in the very place he had wanted to run from.

The fortress was one of two towers in which light ceased to never exist inside its black walls. Its twin was built in Dathomir, where Lord Sidious kept his watchful eye over Middle Earth. It was the home that Kylo had been given when he was born a Wraith. Back when all he had cared about was the Ring and before he remembered Rey.

"Rey…"

Groaning, he slowly pushed himself from the marble floor and got to his knees. No thanks to the orc his head was throbbing. His body was now feeling the miserable effects of having lost the battle. As much as he wanted to, dwelling on the pain wasn't an option or pondering why he was able to feel it when someone of his stature shouldn't.

He _had_ to find Rey.

"Hello, my young friend."

Kylo snapped his head to the throne at the front of the chamber, his glare murderous when he was met with the arctic gaze of the lone figure who sat upon it. Adorning his usual white robes and beard Snoke easily stood out amongst the dark interior, posture erect, with his hands on a familiar narrow object, lying prone on his lap. Gritting his teeth Kylo rose to his feet, his hand favoring where the orc's blade had grazed his abdomen.

"Where is she?" Kylo seethed, curling his lip at the snarl.

Snoke's chuckle was somber. "You should be more concerned for your own life than of hers. But if it will make this conversation easier, young Rey will be joining us here rather shortly."

Choosing to stay silent Kylo clenched the fist at his side. His eyes held Snoke's ascetic gaze as the wizard rose from his seat, revealing the bow that Kylo had set aside during the skirmish in Mustafar. He didn't bother to ask how Snoke acquired it, or better yet _why_ he had it. But the wizard clearly wasn't in a hurry to state his reasons right off the bat.

Snoke reached for a staff he had left propped along a wall, adjacent to the dark throne, his eyes swept over Kylo's apparel as he approached. He didn't seem to be pleased. "Interesting choice of attire, by the way. I take it that you no longer found the robes suitable for your taste."

Kylo snorted blithely. "I find it hard to believe you sent orcs after me, just so that you can address my change in wardrobe."

Snoke nodded curtly. "You are right," he assured, "For that particular reason, I did not. I am afraid that we have much more imperative issues that need to be discussed."

"I'm not aware of anything that is more important than finding the Ring," Kylo spat. "But I will listen since it appears I have no other choice."

The wizard gave him an unsettling smirk. Kylo wondered precisely _how much_ the wizard already knew about his affiliation with Rey. If he could keep Snoke entertained long enough then he might be able to figure out a way for her and himself to escape, preferably alive.

" _That_ would be correct, my friend," Snoke sneered and began to slowly pace around him, like a predator circling its prey.

Kylo felt the wizard's eyes penetrating the back of his skull as he passed by. While he was able to retain his calm appearance, his inner emotions had deeply betrayed the effort.

"It appears that your association with this elf has left you - conflicted," Snoke hummed, amusement etched in his tone.

Kylo regarded him before the wizard had disappeared beyond his peripheral, a frown on his lips. "It's not that simple."

Snoke paused at his other side, considering. "Is it not?" His face drew closer, uttering in a whisper. "So you are suggesting that she wasn't just an arbitrary who you wed overnight?"

Kylo's mouth instantly drained of its saliva, which made it difficult to repress the astringent flavor of nausea that crept to his throat. He looked to see Snoke's impassive features convert to knowing. When the wizard backed away and continued the leisure waltz Kylo flexed his fists, curling his fingers, his nails dug into the abrasion at his side. It should have hurt but his body was suddenly numb to pain.

"Kylo Ren, the Witch King, in love," he mused. "Clearly, I assumed wrong when I thought I had erased your memory entirely. I'd initially envisioned this would go somewhat differently but now - I am afraid it will make things a bit more complicated for you. But also more delightful for me."

"Whatever twisted game it is that you're playing, I'll never let you win," Kylo snarled with venom in his words.

"Oh, that is where you are gravely mistaken," the wizard countered, ending his final step in front of Kylo. "Because no matter what path it is that you choose I have already won."

Kylo cocked a wicked smirk, his chin leveled. "Not if I kill you first."

The wizard mirrored his opponent. "You are forgetting your place here Kylo Ren. If it weren't for me you would have been dead along with the other elves that day. _You_ belong to _me_. And it is clear that a reminder is now in order as for where your loyalties should be."

"I belong to no one," Kylo growled through barred teeth.

Snoke jutted his chin slightly towards the rear entrance of the chamber. "Interesting. Not even to her?"

Kylo turned on his heels as the door to an arched passageway opened. With a large hand clasping her bicep Rey was ushered in by the orc who had carried out the order to their abduction, her wrists held bound in front by rope, wriggling and writhing in a hopeless attempt to wrench herself free. Her struggle came to a stop when she saw _him_.

"Ben!" She cried out, failing at her need to run toward him.

"Rey," Kylo breathed, who managed to take a few steps forward but was suddenly frozen in place. Try as he might his body wouldn't respond to the commands that his brain was issuing it.

"Ben!" Rey shouted once again. Holding the blade of its sword under her throat, the orc drove her to her knees without a struggle. Kylo immediately recognized the blade, the same sword that'd successfully wounded him in Mustafar.

" _Silence_ dog," the orc hissed to her ear.

"Don't touch her!" Kylo bellowed.

Barred from Kylo's vision Snoke held his staff angled toward the wraith, the origin of Kylo's paralysis. "As you can see, my friend, such a weakness can be a sharp tool when it's necessary. Now, I can only ensure you that a choice needs to be made."

"Then let her go," Kylo commanded without giving the order a second thought. "She has no part in this. If it is me who you want then fine. You can have me if you but promise to spare her."

"Ben," Rey pleaded, shaking her head. "No, don't do this. Please don't."

"I would like to believe you, my dear friend," Snoke affirmed placidly. "But unfortunately I will need reassurance before I consider setting her free."

Crestfallen by the meaning of Snoke's words Kylo kept his eyes on Rey. If saving her and not himself was the only way for now, then so be it. They had found their way to each other once before. His memory wiped and all. He could do it again.

"You have my word," Kylo swallowed, his voice cracked uttering the terms.

Silence hovered in the room then. And it took every ounce of his own restraint not to run to her and kill the orc when Snoke freed him of the staff's hold. Sadness engulfed his heart when he noticed the gleam of moisture in her eyes. This time, her tears were because of him.

 _Im will tul- back an cin. Im ber._ If he had been any closer he would've said the words for her to hear. But instead, he kept them to himself, a silent vow that he _would_ come back for her. One day. A year from then. Or a hundred even. Or maybe in another life when there was no war amongst good and evil to be fought.

"Kill her."

Blinking from Rey and his thoughts Kylo turned to Snoke, uncertain if he had misheard the wizard's demand at first. "What?"

Snoke gestured the bow in his hand to Kylo. "I said, _kill_ _her_."

"Ben," Rey sobbed, swallowing thickly the tears began to pour down her cheeks. "It's okay. It's okay, Ben."

Every sound appeared to have been sucked from the chamber as Kylo lowered his gaze to the bow in Snoke's hand. _Now_ he knew why the wizard had kept it. And now he also understood why the quiver of arrows had never been removed from his back. _Of course._ Now - _now_ , he knew what he had to do.

Leveling his chin Kylo accepted the bow and removed an arrow from his quiver. Squaring his shoulders he raised the weapon to its target, just slightly above the bridge of the nose and between her eyes. He gave Rey a final look and steadied his breath.

And then he fired.


End file.
